From New York to Seattle
by coffee89
Summary: After two years of living in New York, Meredith starts to get homesick for Seattle, and everything she left behind. MerDer...Read and Review!
1. Prolouge

_Meredith's POV_

I love to come here in the winter, frost ornamenting the lit-up gingerbread houses lining the street, size 4 skates scraping hesitantly against the ice. It helped, of course, that this river reminded me of someone I once knew, once loved. One of the many people I've left behind in my life, his face is fading a little more each year. I still remember his eyes, though, those sparkling blue eyes that could make my knees weak from one look across the crowded hospital.

I've visited this spot on January 12th every year for three long years, my own quiet acknowledgment for the people I left behind while fleeing to New York City. So much happened in those first two years of residency, it's been hard to adjust to my recently turned mediocre life. It's funny, the idea that the city that never sleeps tamed me.

Lately I've been trying to work up the courage to use my mother's old skates, a beautiful, tattered piece of her more lighthearted past, but I can't quite bring myself to mortify myself in front of perfect strangers. The image of me making my way shakily across the frozen river reminds me of my drunken stupors back in Seattle, and my expression turns somber as I remember the cause of those tequila nights a lifetime ago at Joe's.

My hair whips around my face, the biting cold finally forcing me to retreat back to my beat-up Volvo, the only thing I could afford on my limited teaching salary. Giving up surgery with Seattle was a decision that had regret eating away at the back of my mind ever since. I raise my glove clad hands up to my face, blowing on them for warmth as I flip through the radio stations, trying to find a song that fits my mood. There is no song, no lyrics that can describe my life right now, just an ex-doctor posing as a high school English teacher in one of the most adventurous, captivating, entrancing cities in the world. I'm surprised I've lasted as long as I have, in my 5th floor apartment in Brooklyn, a fourth of the size of my house in Seattle. I still can't bring myself to sell it, no matter how tight money becomes. After all, George and Izzie still need a place to live.

I look in the mirror every night and I'm still amazed at the unrecognizable woman I've become, a shadow of the confident intern I once was. I guess I didn't realize just how much I had back then, a fabulous job, caring boyfriend, loyal friends. I miss that, and recently I've begun to figure out just how much.

Sometimes I catch myself nicknaming my fellow teachers and my students, suddenly feeling homesick for Christina, or I look down at the dismal microwave dinner in my left hand and long for one of Izzie's muffins. The moments were fleeting, though, glimpses into a time that no longer exists. This past year, those moments have started to become more frequent; instead of the sharp pangs of nostalgia I now have a constant dull ache.

Neither nicknames nor muffins, however, could compare to the emotions that a simple ferryboat painting could evoke; the knot in my stomach that only seems to grow, whenever I think of Derek Shepard.


	2. The Universe and You

_You know there's no need to hide away _

_You know I tell the truth _

_We are just the same _

_I can feel everything you do _

_Hear everything you say _

_Even when you're miles away _

_Coz I am me, the universe and you _

_Boil water…_That wasn't terrifically complicated. Except for the fact that I had to use the stove, which presented problems. The last time I used this stove I ended up going down the fire escape and my landlord was very, very mad at me for over a month. Actually… my landlord's _still_ mad at me.

Cautiously turning one of the burners to high I make my way to the living room, crumpling onto my trusty old tan couch and reaching for the remote to flip to ER, because these days I can't watch anything but hospital dramas. I'm immersed in seconds, living a doctors' life vicariously through the characters, though its nothing compared to a real OR. The phone rings and I barely hear it underneath the couch cushions and over the TV.

"Hello?" I answer, after extensive rummaging.

"_Meredith_," a voice answers and I feel my control following the phone as it slips out of my fingers, poetically colliding with the floor. My water's boiling but that's the last thing on my mind as I try to quell the rising emotions. His voice, heavy and thick and carrying a thousand emotions sends my perfectly thought-out world reeling. I scramble to pick up the phone shortly after regaining at least some of my composure.

"Derek?"

"_Hi_."

As memories flash through my mind at lightning speed, I pull the phone away from my ear and hang up, regret coursing through me as soon as I gently set it back down on the couch. I make my new years resolution staring at the phone-I would forget Seattle and all the awful, heartbreaking things that happened in my last week or so there. I would move on from McDreamy, and his wife, and my mothers' death, and finally, I would move on from that life-changing doctor's appointment. Thinking back on that week I involuntarily cringe, wondering how the hell I even suffered through it.

My revelry was short-lived, however, because seconds later I was overwhelmed with noise; the fire alarm and a steadily growing sizzling sound coming from the stove. _Oh no…_ I think to myself, anticipating the chain of events that would follow. Did I mention that my landlord is still mad at me? He said he would throw me out if I ever pulled something like that again. I stop the stove, finally, and I drag over the step stool that I keep under the sink and I climb up. As soon as I'm safely positioned

underneath the smoke detector, I remember just how scared I am of heights, and I begin to get so dizzy that all I can focus on is getting the damn beeping noise to stop. Before I can fix it, the landlords' pounding on the door and I can hear keys being jammed into the lock and a strong New York accent yelling at me through the paper-thin walls.

"Just a minute!" I yell. The sprinklers erupt, and now I look like a drowned rat, perched feebly on the step stool and with one hand scrambling to fix this whole mess. Once my landlord stumbles through the door, a lecture already springing from his lips, I've given up. I slouch, a defeated expression on my face and my hair clinging to my shoulders. I know that this situation will be comical in a few weeks, but seriously? I'm still trying desperately not to burst into tears.

"What the hell were you thinking! I _told_ you not to use the damn stove! Do you know how much it cost to fix your apartment last time? And who had to pay it? Me. Meredith, I can't afford to have you living here anymore. I'm sorry, but-"

"Don't kick me out. This is a one-time…well, two-time thing. It won't happen again I promise. Please don't kick me out," I plead, jumping down from my step stool.

"I have to kick you out for at least a week to get this," he motioned to the kitchen, "cleaned up. Come back in a week and I'll let you know if you can stay."

"But where am I supposed to live for a week!"

"Not my problem, kid, not my problem." 

"Can't you just let me know now? If I can keep the apartment?"

"No. I'll give you the weekend to move out the stuff you need and you can come back on Monday of next week, after I've made my decision."

I'm still wet from the sprinkler as I back against the wall and slip slowly down to the floor, my head falling into my hands. My mind feels heavy, the weight of responsibility settling in. I don't know how long I've been propped up against the wall and floor, but the sunlight has faded into gray, and only a single ribbon of smoke is left to remind me of my latest cooking disaster. There are glaringly obvious facts that I know I should consider, like that there is not one person in New York that I'd feel comfortable sharing an apartment with (including my boyfriend Eric), and that it took me three months to find this apartment, it'll take me even longer to find a new one.

The room is suffocating me, there's not enough space for both me and my problems. Grabbing the black scarf hanging on a hook by the door I leave in the general direction of Times Square. For some reason Times Square always seems to calm me. Something about the energy, all those billboards and television screens.

Once there, staring up at the Chicago sign that's five times bigger than I am, I know that the only solution to my problems is in Seattle. I know that I shouldn't have left without telling anyone, and I know that I need a place to stay; that New York City is kicking me out. So, with a final sigh of exasperation, I pull out my cell and dial the number I haven't used for three long years.

"_Hello?"_

"Izzie," I breathe, surprised at the rush of emotion I feel after hearing her voice.

"_Oh, so you talked to Derek?"_

"What? How'd you know that Derek called?"

"_He didn't tell you?"_

"I hung up on him. Tell me what?"

"_Oh, sweetie. Christina had a miscarriage. I was going to call you but Derek insisted, said he had found out your phone number a year ago and still had it." _

"What? Is she okay? Oh my god, I didn't even know she was pregnant…"

"_She won't talk to us. We need you here, Meredith. She'll talk to you."_

"I'll get on the next flight."

--

It wasn't until I was on the redeye to Seattle, looking longingly at the pinpricks of light from the skyscrapers that I realized I was actually going back, that I was going to have to eventually talk to Derek and explain why I left, and that I was going to have to relive all of those achingly painful memories that I had finally started to push away.

**AN: So this is the last chapter I'll post for awhile. Read and Review, though!!!!!!!**


	3. Christina

_No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white_

_Just our hands clasped so tight_

_Waiting for the hint of a spark_

_If heaven and hell decide_

_That they both are satisfied_

_Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs_

I felt my first sting of bitterness when I was fifteen years old. I had caught my boyfriend with my best friend and I thought it was the end of the world, and in a way I guess it was. It was the end of a world that I had constructed myself, a world where I was the one who cheated on my boyfriends so that I never had to feel jealous. After that, bitterness was like a ball of snow that I kept on adding to. Now, standing at the airport with two bags in front of me and a purse slung over my shoulder I'm feeling more bitter and resentful than I've ever felt in my life. All the things I left behind are flooding back to me, all the things I buried along with Ellis Grey.

I can see Izzie, she's a few yards away and wearing an uncharacteristically somber expression. She crosses the distance between us in a few long strides and envelops me in a bone-crushing hug.

"How is she?" The words tumble out of my mouth at lightning speed as Izzie slings one of my bags over her shoulder and ushers me towards the parking lot.

"She needs you."

I'm silent, trying to envision Christina needing anyone. The Christina that I remembered, the Christina who was my best friend, didn't let anything get to her. Would new Christina even listen to me? I only knew how to deal with a sarcastic, competitive best friend. What if I couldn't comfort her? What if I couldn't fix this? The questions hung unanswered in my mind as we climbed into an old blue car and sped off towards Seattle. Towards home.

Before I began to rethink my decision to come back for the millionth time, Izzie had pulled her car into the driveway of a modest-looking house.

"Christina and Burke moved here after they found out that she was pregnant," Izzie explained unnecessarily, "She doesn't know you're coming so don't be surprised if she's a little shocked."

I climb warily out of the car and make my up to the door. It's a friendly-looking door, bright green with one of those old fashioned brass knockers that aren't too common anymore. I pick up the knocker, feeling the cool brass press into my already-numb hands. I rap twice.

--

She's different. Her eyes are blotchy and dead, and when she snaps her head around to look at me they seem cold, hard. I realize that she's judging me, judging the fact that I left. I don't blame her but it hurts, feeling her disappointment. She has a blue and white afghan wrapped tightly around her abnormally thin frame, her dark curls matted and swept into a low messy pony tail. She grunts, a dull acceptance of my arrival before turning away to look at the mantle. Her grief is tangible in this room, a forgotten crib in the corner, knitted slippers on the chair.

I move over to her and sit cross-legged on the floor in front of her. After sitting there a while in silence with Izzie and Burke watching hopefully from the doorway I realize that Christina and I are in the same place. We're both numb, shutting out the world so that we won't get hurt again. I begin talking to her in a whisper, leaning up to her ear and running my hand through her matted hair. I tell her what happened to me, and although she doesn't move, I can see a flicker of something else. Something other than a judging look in those cold, lifeless eyes.

--

I'm at the hospital. It took two hours of begging, pleading, and bribing to get me here, and I'm still looking longingly towards those beautiful glass sliding doors. I've only been here half an hour, and I've already reminisced with half the nursing staff that I knew from interning days (the other half no longer work at Seattle Grace). I want to go back home and crawl back into bed.

I spent a good few hours with Christina before heading back to my mothers' old house. I visited with George, Alex, Callie, and Izzie for awhile before complaining of exhaustion. The next day George and Izzie pulled me out of bed roughly.

"_We are not going to deal with two catatonic people,"_ they said, "_and we haven't seen you in three years."_

So I'm here. In the place I've been dreaming subconsciously about for years, in the place where I am torn between loving and hating. He's in surgery, and every once and awhile I glance over in the general direction of the clock. Another hour passes and I'm beginning to wonder whether my overwhelming tiredness is because of my tossing and turning last night or because I'm anxious about seeing him. I curse George and Izzie for dragging me here and bring my nails up to my lips to bite.

Suddenly he's there, at the other end of the nurse's station, looking stooped, tired, and utterly shocked at my appearance.

**AN: I'm back!! This chapter's a little more moody, and the next one might be pretty moody too. But it kinda has to be so oh well. Read and Review!!!**


	4. Strange and Beautiful

_I've been watching your world from afar,  
I've been trying to be where you are,  
And I've been secretly falling apart,  
Unseen,  
To me, you're strange and you're beautiful,  
You'd be so perfect with me but you just can't see,  
You turn every head but you don't see me._

He enveloped me in a tight, rib-snapping hug, astonishing me and cutting off oxygen simultaneously, which he had always been good at. My head pressed into his shoulder and his arms wrapped around my frame, emotions that had been hidden for years resurfaced. I breathed in his cologne, letting it settle in the air. When he stepped back I could tell he was embarrassed. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, and I almost, _almost_ let out a laugh as I saw a faint flush creep onto his strong cheek bones. I'd never seen him blush before.

"Meredith," he says quietly, stepping forward cautiously as if I could run away if he made a sudden movement. Hearing him say my name sent memories flooding through my mind and I instinctively look down to his left hand. It was missing something, a very important simple gold band that had caused so many problems. Frowning I looked up, meeting his gaze.

"Three years ago," he says, answering my unspoken question, "right after you left."

I nod forcefully and gulp back tears as we share our look.

"Your hair's shorter…" he says, and moves hesitantly forward as if asking permission.

I take a step in his direction and he runs a hand through my hair disbelievingly. I'm silent, still trying to adjust to having him in front of me. It's strange to see him and to know he's real, because back in New York City I saw him a million different times on a million strangers' faces. I'm not wondering anymore why I came, the reason is here, in Seattle Grace Hospital, with wavy dark hair, a piercing gaze, and a smirk that made me remember why I fell in love in the first place.

George yells to me from across the hospital and the moment is over. I mumble a hurried, "I missed you," into the air separating us before I go over to George, unsure about whether or not he heard me.

"Couldn't stay away from McDreamy, huh?" George asks when I'm a few feet away.

"Just because I have an obsession doesn't mean you can mock it," I joke, despite the circumstances. He gives a little laugh and gestures to the surgery board.

"I've got an open-heart surgery right now…want to watch?"

"I would love to," I hear myself say, falling into step behind him as he takes off briskly in the direction of the OR. I try to get a glimpse of Derek as we leave the nurse's station but he's gone. I feel an odd emptiness at his disappearance although I've lived three years without him. George seems to notice because he glances over and raises his eyebrows. I ignore him and continue facing forward although I can feel his eyes on me all through the hallway. We separate, George veering off towards the scrub room and me heading in the other direction to the gallery.

--

I miss surgery.

I miss having that familiar rush of adrenaline that lasts for hours, I miss the thrill that comes with saving a life, I miss holding a scalpel. I miss that satisfactory snap that fills a room when you pull on your gloves. I miss Bailey hollering orders to us. I miss rounds. I miss having a neurosurgeon hovering over me in an empty on-call room in between surgeries. I miss knowing I can come back the next morning for rounds, knowing I can do overtime when my personal life gets so complicated that I can't think anymore.

I know I can't go back. I know I can't just jump from being a school teacher back to a surgeon. Being back here, though, in this city that has so many good and bad memories, makes me want to be an intern again.

--

I'm sitting beside Christina again, she's listening to me describe New York when suddenly she turns to look at me.

"When did you first hear about the cancer?" She asks bluntly, catching me by surprise.

"About a month before I left," I say after recovering, "two weeks before my mother died."

She bites her lip and nods.

"And you didn't tell anyone?" Her voice sounds far away, laced with hurt and barely audible.

"No. I didn't want pity from Izzie or George or-"

"You wouldn't have gotten pity from me," she interjects.

"I would have," I argue cautiously, trying not to make her upset, "maybe not as obvious as the others but you would have."

I can feel her mood changing with her expression. Her face suddenly looks unbelievably exhausted, like she's struggling to stay awake. In a moment she's crying uncontrollably. I give her an awkward hug and she clings to me. She's saying something but the words are running together and I can't understand. It's over an hour before we move. Her crying turns to the occasional hiccup, her shoulders stop shaking and I go to talk to Burke after giving her arm one last nudge of assurance. I tell him what happened and he smiles.

"She's going to be okay," he says. The confidence in his voice convinces me that he's telling the truth.

**A/N: I forgot to give song names before…the first song was The Universe and You by K.T. Tunstall and the second was I Will Follow You Into The Dark by Death Cab For Cutie. The one at the beginning of this chapter is Strange and Beautiful (I Put A Spell On You) by Aqualung. They're all amazing songs and you should check them out. They have nothing to do with the chapters that they're attached to. **

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	5. Alcoholic Conversations

_I'm wondering why there's so much air in this room and no oxygen. The room is shrinking, forcing me back into my carefully constructed fantasy world of denial._

"_No. Do the test again," I insist firmly. _

"_Meredith…the test results are accurate. We can proceed one of two ways-"_

"_How can you be sure they're accurate? I mean, there's got to be hundreds of cases out there where people think they have cancer but the doctors aren't sure-"_

"_I'm sure." _

_Her simple words cut the air sharply and my mind reels. Everything was going so well…with Derek and moving up to residency next year_-_it has to be a mistake. An awful, frightening mistake. _

"_I know this is an enormous amount of information to process right now. What I really need to talk to you about is treatment options. If we wait too long…"_

"_Right," I hear myself say, taking a long shaky breath, "What are my options?"_

"_For you, the best option is Standard multiple myeloma treatment. You'll take two or three different drugs either orally or we'll schedule shot appointments. It's another form of Chemotherapy."_

"_And the alternative?"_

"_An experimental treatment has been released recently. It's called peripheral blood stem cell transplantation. I wouldn't recommend it, mainly because it's new and hasn't been tested sufficiently. It involves a more concentrated dose of both chemo and radiation. Because of the stage and type of your cancer, I'd say the Standard multiple myeloma is your best chance."_

_There's a long silence, allowing me to absorb just how bad my life is right now. Then, pulling myself together with another long, slightly less-shaky breath, I say,_

"_When can I start?"_

I'm brought out of the painful memory by Izzie. She's touching my shoulder and asking me if I'm okay. I give her a smile and a nod to reassure her.

I'm sitting on the newly-added window seat in my mother's old house, looking blankly at the raindrops stuck to the glass on the window.

"Can we go to Joe's?" I ask hopefully, a hint of giddiness present in my voice. Izzie gives me a motherly look.

"You're not going to be all dark and twisty are you?"

"No. I haven't been there for awhile and I kind of miss Joe. Plus, it would give us some time to catch up…"

Izzie grabbed onto my carefully placed bait, her eyes lighting up.

"Just like old times!"

"Yeah, just like old times," I echo.

--

I've had five shots of tequila, and three years ago that would have been nothing. Now, I'm seeing double. Izzie doesn't seem to notice my dangerously low tolerance and continues to chat happily about the last three years. I want to listen, I really, really do, but the counter looks so comfortable and I my head feels so heavy. While my head is resting in my folded arms, I hear familiar voices. I can't make out what they're saying so I try to place who they belong to. I can hear Alex, and Mark…_Mark?_ My head jolts up and my neck twinges with pain. Now the voices _and_ the faces are blurry. I rest my head back down.

"Is she okay?" Alex asks, more out of curiosity then concern.

"Hi, Meredith," Mark greets as if talking to a two-year-old, bending down to my level and smirking. I try to give him a stern glare but it turns out being more of a wince and he laughs. I give him the finger. Unfortunately my coordination and brain activity are unhealthily low and _the_ finger ends up being my ring finger.

"And that means it's time for Meredith to go home," Izzie says, grabbing one of my arms and dragging me into a standing position. Alex takes my other arm and I can see Mark make his way over to a red-head in the corner.

"Wait," I slur. Alex and Izzie have identically confused faces as I pull my arms out of their grips and make my way over to the corner.

"Well, well, well. Meredith Grey," the red-head says. I know I should leave. In the back of my mind I can hear a little voice saying 'you're drunk! You can't talk to Addison!'. But of course, I choose to stay. Because I'm Meredith Grey and I make stupid choices.

"Addison, Meredith's drunk. Like, trashed. Maybe you two shouldn't be having this conversation-"

"She slept with Derek! And he divorced me because of it!"

A guilty look flashes across my face, despite the alcohol. Izzie and Alex seem to have snapped out of the trance they were in and start moving towards me.

"He said he loved me," I argue as Alex and Izzie once again start dragging me towards the exit, "He said he loved me and that he was going to leave you."

--

The next morning I can barely remember anything. I wake up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar house, in an unfamiliar town, with an unfamiliar splitting headache. I dig some aspirin out of the medicine cabinet after groggily making my way to the bathroom to turn on the shower. My movements are slow, stumbling. I feel like a zombie and my eyes won't open all the way, no matter how hard I try. Why did I have to paint the bathroom walls white? The light in this room is blinding and the shower is cold.

Once I finally get downstairs after an hour-long shower (It took me fifteen minutes to realize the shampoo was to my right and not in front of me), I start the coffee maker and listen to messages. The first one is from the school I work for back in New York, the second from Burke asking me if I can come over today, and the third voice sends my thoughts into another flurry of confusion.

"_It's Addison. I realize that not all of what happened between Derek and I was your fault. I also realize that you were drunk last night and probably don't remember anything about our two sentence conversation. So, I think that we should have coffee or something. I know it'll be awkward but I think it will help both of us move on and maybe become friends."_

A shocked expression has crept its way onto my face. I save the message, although I contemplate deleting it. The next voice that fills my ear makes me realize that it will be a very long day.

"_Hey. I know you're probably avoiding me, and you should- at least until you're ready to talk to me. Just…don't wait until the last minute. You didn't give an explanation-when you left and…I just want to know what you've been up to. If that makes sense, which it probably doesn't. Call me."_

I let out a groan and my head hits the table with a dull thud.

**AN: This story is so fun to write, not even joking. It's so fun that if people don't review I'll probably still keep writing it. But still, you know, reviews help. And they make me happy. This chapter is really all over the place and it doesn't really explain anything, but, oh well. Let me know if you like it!!**


	6. Addison Turned Soft

_It's a week after I found out about the cancer and I'm standing outside of Chief Webber's door and silently praying that I won't have to have this conversation. I don't want anyone at Seattle Grace to know. If they did, it wouldn't be the nurses that bothered me; it wouldn't be their gossip, the whispers that I can almost block out while I'm working. It would be my friends. Every time George or Izzie or Christina or Derek would look at me, I would see pity. I don't want their comforting words, or gestures. I don't want them to worry. I don't want to see 'cancer' imprinted in their expressions. So when I'm forced to tell the chief about this…disease, I don't want to. Yet here I am, standing at the door and looking completely insane. But, truthfully, when do I not look insane lately? My mother's getting worse, I just found out I have cancer, and I've spent every hour outside of this hospital either shut up in my room crying or having sex with my married boss. The door flies open before I can fully accept just how much my life sucks. _

"_Were you planning on knocking, Grey?"_

"_No, sir. I mean, yes sir, eventually-"_

"_Yes or no?"_

"_Yes," I stammer, wishing I could shrink into the floor, "Can I talk to you about something?"_

"_Of course. Come on in." _

"_I went to a doctor's appointment earlier this week at Virginia Mason-"_

"_Why the hell didn't you just get whatever you needed here? In case you don't remember, Grey, you work at a hospital."_

"_I know I work at a hospital. It's just, I thought it might be because of alcohol poisoning or something-"_

"_Oh. You were embarrassed."_

_It took him a couple seconds to realize the full implications of what I said, and when he finally did realize, his voice turned lethal. _

"_Are you telling me that you consumed so much alcohol because of Derek Shepard that you needed to go to a hospital besides the one that you work at to find out you have alcohol poisoning?"_

"_With all due respect, Chief, I never said that I had alcohol poisoning."_

"_Meredith, I'm a patient man. But could you please get to your point before I fire you?"_

"_Yes sir. It didn't turn out to be alcohol poisoning."_

_Deep breaths._

"_It turned out to be cancer."_

_As soon as the word is out of my lips, I realize that this is the first time that I've been able to say it. It leaves a metallic taste in my mouth and I fight the urge to run for the bathroom. _

_The chief's expression is soft, but he suddenly looks older, weaker. _

_This is why I didn't want to tell anyone. _

"_What type?"_

"_Standard multiple myeloma."_

"_When do you start treatment?"_

"_Next week. Listen, I don't want anyone to know. If possible, I want to arrange my schedule so that no one will be suspicious."_

_He nods absently, obviously still processing. _

"_I just wanted to let you know. I'll get you the times that I won't be available in the next few days. Then maybe you can come up with a schedule that works around that?"_

"_You're sure you don't want anyone to know?"_

"_I'm sure. The schedule?"_

"_What? Oh. Of course. Next few days."_

There are a lot of times in my life where I think back and wish they didn't happen. Finding out Derek was married was one of them. Having an affair with him was another. And I'm sure that in a couple of years when I'm looking back on coffee with Addison, I'll wish it didn't happen, too. To cover my nervousness, I've wrapped my hands tightly around my coffee mug because I know they're shaking. I can't look at the woman sitting across from me, but I know that she's impeccably dressed, as always, and that she senses my nervousness, maybe even feeling a pinprick of satisfaction. I did sleep with her husband countless times, after all. She doesn't seem angry or resentful and I know that maybe, after a lot of conversations down the road, we might even be friends. Still, I feel a sense of forbidding whenever she's in the room, an uneasiness that I can't shake off. She has a calm acceptance of me, and I wonder what she's thinking. She doesn't seem uncomfortable, like I am, and that's probably the thing that makes me the most nervous.

"I knew that he was having an affair," she admits quietly, "I didn't want to acknowledge it, but I knew that he was seeing you. I just didn't want to admit that you won him."

I stop staring into my coffee, slowly raising my eyes to meet hers.

"I understand that you feel uncomfortable around me. I know that this conversation is probably excruciating for you, but I'm all I'm asking is for you to realize that I needed to give Derek and I a chance before I could let him go."

I'm speechless, and I feel more gratitude towards her in that moment than during all my years as an intern. It surprises me that she can just…forgive me so easily. I suddenly feel shame begin creep onto my face. She didn't deserve what happened to her.

"I'm sorry," I state simply, and I feel like there's so much more to say, like I owe her something more.

"Me, too."

My brow furrows.

"What for?"

"For taking away what you and Derek had. That kind of relationship doesn't come around all that often and I broke you guys up."

"You were his wife. That trumps dirty mistress any day."

"No, not every day. He stopped looking at me the way he looked at you long before I had the affair with Mark."

"Doesn't matter. You had an obligation, and you guys decided to carry it out. That means something."

"Says the woman who slept with my husband?"

"Says the woman who slept with you're husband."

She chuckles, and hands me the newspaper she's been scanning, slipping her reading glasses off the bridge of her nose.

"I have to go. Surgery in an hour. We should do this again, though…that is, if it wouldn't be too awkward?"

"Not at all," I manage to choke out, and she gives me a skeptical look. She gives a little half-smile and rises to her full height, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in her skirt.

"You won't get to sit there looking like you've just survived a bomb all day. I've set up an appointment with the new Chief to discuss you're return to Seattle Grace in," she checks her watch, "two hours. I hope it will be helpful."

Her half-smile morphs into something more knowing, like she's remembering a secret that only she knows. Then she throws a few bills down and turns towards the door, leaving me dumbstruck at the table for two and wondering what the hell just happened.

**AN: New chapter up!! Review and let me know if you like it…. you know the drill. **


	7. Meeting with the Chief

Whatever I was expecting for my meeting with the chief faded as soon as I saw the name engraved on the small gold plaque hanging on the door.

_Dr. M. Sloane _

I'm frozen in either gratitude or disappointment, questions flashing so fast that I can't separate them out.

When had Mark Sloane risen over Derek and Burke? _How_ had Mark Sloane risen over Derek and Burke? Shouldn't he be head of plastics? How did everyone just _accept_ Mark Sloane as their boss?

My lips stretch into an odd half-smile that I'm fighting to keep from breaking into a grin. Mark Sloane: Chief of Surgery….

Derek must have been pissed.

My throat constricts as my thoughts lead me back, inevitably, to Derek Shepard. Why is it that once I'm back in Seattle, I can't think of anything but him? In a few seconds I'll be in one of the most important meetings of my life and I can't think of anything but how he reacted to Sloane's promotion. Pathetic.

In order to calm my shot nerves, I try to convert into the confident surgeon that I used to be. Deep breaths.

Closing my eyes briefly, I raise a shaky hand up to knock. There is one tantalizing moment of uncertainty before the door swings open swiftly.

The man standing in front of me looks different, but not significantly so. His beard is gone, revealing his abnormally square jaw and high cheekbones. His eyes are laughing, even if his expression is disbelieving, and I feel my odd half-smile morph into a broad, uncontrollable grin. _Mark Sloane: Chief of Surgery._

"Well, well, well. The adulterous whore is back," he calls loudly, although I'm standing a foot away. Nurses and doctors in the hallway turn to look and I step into his office to avoid further embarrassment. This could be my future workplace, after all.

"Well, well, well. The dirty mistress got promoted," I snap back playfully, already giving his spacious office the once-over.

It's surprisingly professional, maybe even tasteful. There are floor to ceiling book shelves along one wall and a window directly across from the door. A neutral, plush carpeting hides the floor and a comfortable-looking chair sits behind a generous pile of medical papers. The desk is impossible to see underneath the paperwork, but the frames resting to the right of it are. The woman who should hate me is in all of the pictures.

"You and Addison are…"

"Engaged. Last week," he announces proudly, following my gaze to the photos.

"Really? Um…what happened to Derek?"

"I think you know what happened to Derek."

His voice has turned solemn and I lower my gaze to the floor to avoid his stern eyes.

"She found out?"

"She knew. Everybody did. You two made her the hospital joke."

"I-we…," my voice breaks and I fight to keep it steady, "I couldn't live without him."

"From what I hear you've been living without him for the past three years," he says.

I see his point and change the subject, reminding myself that this is technically a job interview.

"Which is why I'm here, according to you're fiancé."

"Yes. I assume you want to come back here as an intern?"

"Is it too late?"

"Normally, yes. You've made it clear that you no longer want to be an intern and it would be ethical to give aspiring doctors a chance. However, since we're old friends, I might give you a chance."

I roll my eyes. He's obviously flaunting his newly- found authority.

"Will I start at the bottom?"

"Yes. You'll work under…" he shuffle's through some papers, "O'Malley. He has an opening. Everyone will be younger than you, Meredith. Are you willing to work with students who have little to no experience? You've completed nearly two years of interning….are you sure that you want to start all over again?"

I hesitate, and I know that Mark is searching my face for any signs of indecision.

Do I really want to go back? Everything was happening so fast…what about New York, teaching, Derek? There are two very different ways my life could go, how can I be sure I'm choosing the right one? How can I know that I'm screwing up my life until I'm actually screwing it up?

"I need time. All of this has kind of been sprung on me and I haven't had time to digest…"

"I can't hold this spot forever, Meredith."

"I know. Just two days. I just need time to think and decide if I should really jump back into all of this," I stammer.

"I understand. So today is what, Thursday? How about on Monday we meet back here to see if you want the position. Sound good?"

"You're giving me an extra two days?"

"Yeah. The super bowls' on Sunday and I need to watch it."

"How did you become chief again?"

"I slept with the boss."

My eyes grew wide.

"Chief _Webber?_"

"He may not look it," Mark joked, giving me a seductive wink, "But that man is a _tiger_."

"That is _so_ not an image I needed. Can I go gouge my eyes out now?"

"OR 2's empty. I'll let you use it just this once."

"Ha ha."

"Don't get it all messy though, we have a surgery in about," he checks his watch, "thirty minutes."

"Does Addison ever get fed up with you?"

"All the time," he pauses and gives a little laugh, "Listen, I'm sorry to cut this short but…"

"I have to go anyway," I say, smiling at him and reaching for the door handle, "I'll see you on Monday?"

"You'll see me on Monday."

--

When I exit the hospital, I'm startled to see a dark figure leaning against a pole a few feet away. His shadow turns familiar as he steps hesitatingly into the light.

"You didn't call me back."

"I was busy," I lie quickly, knowing that he won't believe me.

"You working here again?" Derek asks, changing the subject abruptly and giving a nod to the towering building behind me.

"Maybe."

"What happened to New York?"

"My landlord kicked me out….something about nearly setting my apartment on fire."

He chuckles, but his eyes are dim. He's far-off, just out of reach. Our conversation is making him relive something, and I can't tell what it is. His face is worn, tired, and I wonder if he got any sleep last night. I doubt it.

"I didn't think I'd see you again. I assumed the affair just became too much…"

"That and other things."

"Like?"

"I have to go," I say, although I know that it shouldn't matter whether or not I tell him anymore. He sighs, as if he's been expecting me to run away.

"You know it doesn't have to be like this. We could start over and be acquaintances, maybe even friends."

"I don't think so," I snap, my voice biting the air. I know I've been too harsh as soon as his face falls. I turn away before I can do more damage, before I can add any more wrinkles to his rapidly-aging face. I clomp through snow with a furrowed brow; I can feel his eyes on me all the way back to my car.

**AN: I know everyone was expecting Derek to be chief…and I'll explain later why he isn't so don't freak out. **


	8. Snowy Breakdowns

I'm pushing open the front door with a bag of groceries accentuating each arm. The house is dark, and I know that George and Izzie will be working late tonight. I kick the door shut, my journey to the kitchen a whirlwind of balance and reflex. I'm pulling out the frozen items when a glint of light catches my eye. I follow it to a photo, resting innocently on the counter next to the phone. I have to squint-the lighting is dim and the picture has a layer of dust encasing it. As soon as I realize what it is, the carton of vanilla bean ice cream falls to the floor, a squelch filling the kitchen as ice cream meets tile. I turn over the frame, my fingers hovering over the glass. I use the sleeve of my shirt to wipe off the dust, just to make sure that it's really…

_**--**_

_I had a break-down about an hour ago. _

_I'm lying buried in the snow behind my mother's house in jeans and a t-shirt, staring up at endless grey and white and wishing I were someone else. Izzie thinks its stress (I can hear her worried ranting from out here) and I suppose she's right. _

_After all, I have a disease that begins with a nauseating C, my mother has just died, and I'm contemplating breaking off an affair with the man I fell in love with two years ago. _

_George is lying to my right, dressed slightly warmer in a lifeboat-sized marshmallow coat, knit mittens, and a hat that has an adorable pom-pom attached to the top. He's catching snowflakes with his tongue._

_I sneeze loudly, breaking the celestial silence that accompanied the snow. George looks over._

"_Izzie?" he calls, into air, "Meredith needs some gloves and a scarf!"_

"_Just a sec!" Izzie calls back, trying to hide the fact that she's talking into the phone. I already know she's talking to Derek, and I already know that he'll be here soon. Strangely enough, I don't mind. This will probably be one of the last times I get to see him anyway. _

_Izzie throws the scarf and gloves distractedly out the kitchen window, obviously deep in conversation. I roll onto my side, away from George and the house and stare blankly into the neighboring yard. I'm beginning to think that my life will never get better. The entanglement of lies that I've somehow landed in doesn't seem to be getting any less confusing. The overwhelming guilt doesn't seem to be losing its hold. I'm not Meredith Grey anymore, although I'm trying to hold onto her. _

_I'm something darker, something nameless. _

_I barely notice when George slips the gloves gently onto my hands, when he wraps the scarf carefully around my neck and ears. I feel the warmth of his arms as they envelop me in a tight hold, but I don't acknowledge it. My hair is spilling over his elbow, contrasting sharply with his ridiculous white pillow-coat. My hair is hiding his arm and his arms are hiding me. We lie there forever, it seems, but it could have been seconds, minutes, hours. We lie there until we hear the crunch of snowy footsteps approach, until George replaces his arms with another, more familiar pair. _

"_You'll freeze," I say, my voice muffled by his shirt._

"_You already have."_

"_I know."_

_The hazy trail my breath makes into the air captures my undivided attention. It comes in a continuous, mesmerizing pattern, visible for only a second before dissolving, evaporating. I'm like that breath, I realize, and soon I'll be evaporating, too. I can't take my eyes off of the falling snowflakes, can't tear them away from the steadily darkening sky. The snow's falling faster now, pattern after pattern invading my mind, pattern after pattern caught in my damp hair. I can't feel anything now, not even Derek's hand moving lazily up and down my arm. _

_Winter is the new tequila. _

--

I can't remember how long we were out there, and I can't remember seeing the flash of the camera as Izzie, presumably felt the need to imprison the moment. Then again, I was practically catatonic.

Derek's holding me tightly, looking at me. I'm staring off to the left poignantly, my eyes tilted upwards and my hands are brought up to my mouth as if I'm blowing on them. I look vulnerable, lost.

I know that this picture captures my life at that moment perfectly, and I know that I both love and hate this picture because of it.

'_What we had wouldn't have lasted,'_ I think to myself, _'what we had would've fallen apart at the first sign of commitment.'_

The doorbell rings and I walk towards the sound, unable to take my eyes off the picture.

He's staring at me when I'm finally able to look up. He follows my gaze to the picture, a knowing smile lighting his dull eyes momentarily. A spark of something that used to always be there.

"That was the last time I saw you," he murmurs, barely audible.

"It was."

"Until now…"

"Yes."

"Listen, Meredith-"

"It was complicated, Derek…"

"I know. I just thought we should talk. I mean, there were so many things we didn't say…didn't do…I just thought…."

"You're right, just-"

"I thought I might be," he quips, the spark flaring up again, lighting the room. I smile, feeling more and more drawn to this new, darker Derek Shepard. A Derek Shepard almost as dark as I once was.

"I'm only telling you pieces," I warn.

"I only want pieces."

"Good."

Deep breaths.

"Can I come in?" he asks, his voice both mocking and hesitant, as I attempt to gather the words that will explain what I did, the words that will fix whatever happened to us.

I hold the door open wider and he follows me into the living room, echoing my movements as I slide into the couch.

"I left partly because what we were doing was…"

"Wrong."

"Yes. I couldn't live with myself…I tried, but it all became too much. Addison was becoming a friend, someone I'd never want to hurt. And that's what we were doing, hurting her, and I couldn't live with myself."

I've never been exceptionally talented with public speaking, and although this is by no means public, my words are circling around each other, a steady stream of incoherent sentences that are now tumbling out of my mouth on their own.

"That was one of the reasons…then there was my mother, the stress, the job…it became too much. I had to leave, and I ended up getting a teaching job in New York."

"That's it? Those are the only reasons you left?"

He knows I'm hiding something. He always knows.

"Those are the only reasons."

"I don't believe you."

"It doesn't matter. You don't have to believe me-"

"Yes I do. Because otherwise there will always be a nagging feeling in the back of my mind, and that nagging feeling could distract me from surgery. You could be killing patients just because you didn't tell me everything."

"I thought you only wanted pieces?"

"Well, I lied."

"So what, you can lie and I can't keep things from you?"

"Yes."

"Oh. I didn't realize it worked like that."

"Meredith," he says, just like he used to, pleading.

"I don't have the answer you want."

"Yes, you do!" he yells unexpectedly, his voice resonating against the wall and the emotion in his voice startles me. Surprisingly, his anger is comforting. Fighting with him makes this seem like something real, something permanent instead of what it is; fleeting, inconsequential.

"No, I don't. The answer you want revolves around you," I snap, knowing that my argument is feeble, irrelevant, untrue.

"I don't care what _kind_ of explanation you give me, I just want to know what happened!"

"I already told you!"

"Guys? Should I be breaking this up?" a figure calls from the kitchen.

"George? What are you doing home?"

"Got off early. Derek, she'll talk to you tomorrow. Meredith, get to bed, its one o'clock in the morning."

"So?"

"So," he slowly explains, as Derek slips out the front door hastily, "you'll need you're energy to fight with Derek tomorrow."

"Oh," I reply, to tired to argue. I think about his words, letting them sink in as I climb the stairs clumsily, my feet clomping heavily on each stair, " Do I have to fight with Derek tomorrow?"

George places a hand on my back to guide me in the right direction. Up.

"If you're asking if you have to see him, then the answers yes. Fight? That's up to you. Are you drunk?"

"Nope. Just a normal confrontation with Derek," I reply dryly as he lifts a comforter up to cover my shoulders.


	9. Sick

The next morning I wake up with sandpaper in my throat and a punk rock band in my head. I groan, desperately trying to fall asleep because I know that this will be a horribly long day, made even worse from the cold that has apparently sprung up overnight. When I realize that there is absolutely no way that I'm getting back to sleep, I manage to drag myself away from the bed with once last longing look at my down comforter. When I open the door into the hallway, George is leaning against the opposite wall, a glass of water in one hand and two pills in the other. He shrugs off my thanks saying,

"I came in to check on you and you were coughing. Like hard-core coughing. Seriously, you should enter the coughing Olympics."

I give him a look.

"Too far?"

I nod slowly, barely processing the conversation. I swallow the pills, feeling like I'm underwater.

"You need tea. I'll go make some and you can get changed. Or whatever you do in the morning."

I nod again, and as he disappears down the stairs I'm overtaken with the familiar feeling of loss.

This is what it would have been like if I'd told them.

_I've spent most of my time in this room since I've found out, its bright white walls providing both comfort and isolation. _

_Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, pain cutting into my back, pain so harsh and uncontrollable that I have to scream into my pillow, otherwise I'll have to lie and say that I've had another nightmare. I stumble down the hall when the pain lessens, my pillow clutched in one hand, the other cradling my back. I wrench the door open violently, silently clicking it shut once I've slipped in. I slide down to the floor in one fluid motion, my back throbbing with an alarming continuity and my hands threatening to strangle the pillow resting in my lap. _

_Once I was aggressively pulled into consciousness with a 102 degree temperature and shaking hands. Sweating and panicked I grabbed the car keys and stumbled to the car, hoping desperately that I wouldn't get into an accident. When I reached the lobby of Virginia Mason a night-shift doctor scrambled to get me to the ER- I was hyperventilating. _

_It ended up being pneumonia. My friends came and visited me, bringing tinfoil balloons and Get well cards. The worry lines on each of their faces confirmed my decision not to tell them. _

_I crouch over porcelain now, alone although down the hall are two of my closest friends, who would hold my hair and whisper assurances if they knew. I know that I'm doing the right thing; I know that it would only make things worse if they knew. Still, when I'm brushing my teeth and struggling against pain that threatens to consume me, I wish they were here. _

I hold a steaming cup of tea between both hands, looking over the top of the mug at George. He's flipping through the mail, sorting it into two piles; bills and letters. The bill pile is considerably taller.

He knows I'm staring but he ignores me, starting on the phone messages after finishing the mail. There's another stumbling message from Derek.

"You really should just call the guy back, I mean, whatever happened between the two of you happened three years ago…"

"I will. Eventually."

"Why not now?" he asks playfully, pressing 69 despite my over-exaggerated gestures for him to put the phone down. When he hands the phone to me I quickly press end.

"I can barely talk," I say, adding a croak to my voice to enforce my excuse, "Besides, there's no way I'm having a deep, meaningful conversation over the phone. And we clearly need a deep, meaningful conversation."

"Well, see, that's the beauty of phones. You can call to _invite_ people to coffee or lunch or go ice-skating so that you can have deep, meaningful conversations."

"Ice-skating?" I incredulously ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Ice-skating."

"You can picture Derek and I ice-skating?"

"With costumes and everything."

"I'm sorry, I don't think I can be your friend anymore."

George scoffs, muttering, "Like I'd want to be friends with someone who wears a leotard. Ha."

--

Christina's better. She's rocking back and forth outside on their porch swing when I pull into the driveway and she even looks genuinely happy to see me. Burke is next her, his arm lazily draped around her shoulders. He waves as I jump out of Izzie's car.

Her hair's still matted and her skin still holds traces of tears, but her eyes are less dim and she hugs me when I reach the porch.

She's able to talk about her baby. She tells me the names they had planned, the gender. She says it would have been a girl; they would have named her Audrey. Her arms tighten around herself as she tells me when the due date was, when they lost her. I lay a hand on her knee and she thanks me with her eyes. She asks about my endless coughing and my red-rimmed eyes, my sneezing. I tell her I woke up with a cold this morning.

Burke invites me to stay for dinner and I say yes. He leads me through the house, pointing out photos and furniture and explaining them, letting me know what I've missed. I don't realize that Christina's been trailing behind us until we reach the kitchen.

She sits beside me and we both watch Burke cut up vegetables; bell peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes. We watch him as he breaks off the ends of sugar snap peas and drops them into a strainer and runs them under the faucet.

"Have you talked to McDreamy, yet?" She asks, her voice casual and light, something I've missed.

"No. I'm avoiding it."

"You should talk to him."

"I know," I say with a sigh, staring down at the can of Sprite that Burke has just handed me, "It's just, I don't want him to know, I've kept it a secret so long…" I glance warily at Burke.

"Oh, he knows," she replies. Then, hastily she adds, "Sorry."

"No, that's good. It's good people know."

"If you need anything…." Burke offers, looking at me over his reading glasses.

"I'll let you know," I laugh, "Hey, do you by any chance have Kleenex?"

"In the bathroom. Go down the hall and it'll be the first door on the left."

"Thanks," I call as I dash out of the kitchen, feeling my nose start to drip.

I come back in two minutes later, the box of Kleenex in one hand and a tissue stained with red in the other. Christina rises quickly to her feet, leading me to the couch and tilting my head back. Burke helps her, replacing the tissue in my hand with a new one. Christina's the one who quietly says what's on all of our minds'.

"Should we go to the hospital?"

**AN: So here's what happened if its' a little unclear;**

**Meredith has a cold. **

**Everybody wants Meredith to tell Derek (he'll find out soon, I promise)**

**Meredith gets a bloody nose, possibly from blowing her nose constantly, possibly from something else.**

**Christina, Burke and Meredith all assume the worst because they're pessimists/ cautious.**

**The episode that just aired of Grey's? amazing. Read and Review, as always. **


	10. Telling Derek

The back seat is cramped, lonely. I inch forward, resting a forearm on each side of me and moving my face to rest between Christina and Burke.

"Can you call Derek?"

My voice surprises me. I sound timid, small; like I'm back to when I was eight and watching my dad walk out our front door, knowing that he wasn't coming back.

"Of course," Burke assures, tearing his eyes away from the road for a second to look at me, "We'll let him take you home but let us know how it goes, okay?"

"Okay," I say in my best glass-half-empty voice.

"You'll be fine," Christina states firmly from the passenger seat, never looking away from the passing landscape, "You _are_ fine."

We pull in to the Virginia Mason parking lot and the car groans as all three of its' passengers climb out simultaneously. The building is stone, a cold gray/blue that isn't helping my mood. As we go through the doors, flashes of white coats and machines slice through my memory. I hesitate filling out the papers, the pen hovering over the line that says 'state medical history'. Burke places a comforting hand over my shoulder and the spell is broken. I write neatly and the words stare back at me, cold and black.

Multiple Myeloma.

--

When I walk into the lobby an hour later, Derek is standing there behind Christina and Burke looking slightly baffled. Seeing him sends a familiar shiver of doubt coursing through me although I know that this time I have to tell him. I have to avoid letting history repeat itself. This time, I won't be alone, shuttering in the corner of the bathroom, gripping a pillow. This time I'll have someone to hold my hair back when I'm kneeling over the porcelain.

My face is blank, the news not entirely processed as I give a subtle thumbs down to the couple. Derek notices and he looks even more confused. Burke steps forward, encasing me in a tight hug, followed by Christina. She searches my eyes after she lets me go, silently telling me to call her. I nod. Then they leave me and Derek, standing awkwardly in the middle of the hospital lobby.

"Why am I here?"

"Because I want you to be here."

"Yes, but _why_ am I here?"

I sigh, motioning for him to lead the way out to the parking lot. When he doesn't move I go without him, pushing on the heavy glass of the door and breathing in a strangled breath of cold air. Reluctantly, he jogs to catch up with my quick, angry pace.

When we reach his car, each slipping in, he avoids my eyes.

"I have cancer."

The three words rush out, tangled and revolting. I feel sick.

Derek, who has had his fingers on the keys and the keys in the ignition, turns slowly to face me.

"What?" 

His deathly calm voice fills the car, his fingers still limply grasping the keys. Silence fills the car; I don't want to repeat the words. The words that haven't been true for three years. The words that followed me here.

"You heard me."

"No, I don't think I did. Because what I heard doesn't make sense. What I heard is completely wrong. What I heard is that you have cancer."

"Multiple Myeloma…it came back."

"Back," he spits out, the word sharp.

"Before I left….about a month before, I found out I had cancer. I didn't tell you because-"

"Because you were selfish."

"No! Because telling you would…telling you would make it real, somehow. I couldn't deal with everyone pitying me, feeling sorry for me. I could handle it on my own."

Derek is breathing heavier now, his hand is shaking.

"I wouldn't have pitied you."

"Yes, you would have," I insist, feeling a sense of déjà vu. I had this conversation two days ago with Christina.

"Not if you'd asked me not to. Is that why you left?"

"No. Yes. Well, partly. I already told you the other reasons."

"Why couldn't you have told me?"

I wince at the hurt underlying his words.

"I was going to but…"

"I know. You didn't want me to pity you."

"And you had a wife," I point out, almost cruelly.

He sighs, surprising me. I thought he'd try to argue with me. We sit there, the silence separating us, dividing us. I don't know how long we're in the parking lot. The grey is getting darker, heavier. Grudgingly Derek turns the key, his grip on the steering wheel turning his fingers an unnatural color of white.

The house seems colder as Derek helps my out of my coat and hangs it on the rack. I feel like I'm reliving what happened three years ago, like at any moment someone will come up to me and tell me my mother died.

I feel like running to New York.

I lower myself to the bottom stair, my feet spread out in front of me. Cancer. My lips upturn into an ironic smile and Derek frowns at me.

"I thought my life could get no worse," I reply to his scowl and his face falls, crumpling into a look of denial, a look of disbelief.

"Your life shouldn't get worse."

"Too late."

"You're undergoing treatment, right? Like last time?"

I ignore him, I'm still processing.

"Will I be fighting this forever?" I finally say, barely audible.

"No. And even if by some crazy chance you are, I'll be fighting with you. You'll be okay."

I glance up to the mirror across from me and I'm surprised to see my eyes well up, but I refuse to let the tears fall. I feel arms cover mine and I'm reminded of the snow, of endless gray and white. His arms are comforting; they make me feel like I can get through this, like I can win over this disease just like I did three years ago.

My choice is clear now, now that Derek knows. I would stay in Seattle; I wouldn't switch doctors like before. I wouldn't move across the country. I would do chemo, radiation, whatever it takes. I would tell Izzie, Alex, Addison, Mark, George. I would let everyone know and deal with the pitying glances. I would deal with their good intentions. I would deal with them because then I would have their support. Then I wouldn't be alone.

**AN: Angst, angst, angst. I assume you've already read this so let me know how it was. Review!**


	11. Friends

_Lately I just can't seem to believe  
Discard my friends to change the scenery  
It meant the world to hold a bruising faith  
But now it's just a matter of grace_

Derek left about three hours ago. I convinced him to, telling him that I needed to break the news to George and Izzie alone. He left reluctantly, sticking around to ask me a million different questions just to stall his exit. A flare of warmth spread through me, knowing that he still cares.

I hear the creaking of a door and whispering voices, voices barely carried over to the kitchen where I'm sitting silently, my hands clasped in front of me. I have to remind myself that it's this or loneliness as they kick of their shoes; four dull thuds. Izzie flips a switch, flooding the room with light and temporarily blinding me. They rush over to me, eyes wide.

"What's wrong?"

"It's McDreamy, isn't it?"

"We can take him."

"No, George. _I _can take him. You would just…." She shrugs, searching for a word, "die."

I cringe, the finality of the word catching me off guard. My eyes close, willing myself to calm down. This had happened before, after all.

"I have cancer," the words escape my lips the same way they did earlier in the day, and I wonder how many times I'll have say those words, how many times I'll have to watch my friends' faces fall. They're reactions are similar to Derek's, although less emotionally draining. We stay up half the night talking, and then eventually joking. They climb into bed with me, George to my left, Izzie to my right, just like we used to. It feels so comfortable, so familiar, that I feel my eyes well again. Soon, we're all crying, shoulders shaking, laughing at each other through our own uncontrollable tears. It's different then the sullen, emotional moment with Derek. It's liberating.

My nose starts to bleed again the next morning and I have to disentangle myself from George and Izzie to scamper down the hall for toilet paper. Groggily Izzie follows me into the bathroom, handing me a box of Kleenex to replace the wad of toilet paper I've been holding up to my face. Her eyes are only half open and her hair is sticking out in all directions. After handing me the box she turns and trudges back to my room and pulls the cover over her frame, snuggling up to George.

My meeting with Mark is today. More explanations, consolations, tears. I feel like my life is moving in a cycle, like I have so many people to tell. I wish they had all met me in the lobby of Seattle Grace so that I could've just gotten it over with, so that I would've only had to have said the word once.

When I get to the hospital, Addison's standing behind Mark, looking over his shoulder and putting a hand on his arm. She notices me first, giving me an almost-smile and gesturing for me to sit down. The meeting goes quickly; I tell them, feeling strange when he gives me the job, like he's giving it to me because I'm sick. He surprises me when I turn to leave, pulling me into a tight hug and telling me to take care of myself. I leave his office stunned, worrying about both work and treatment now. Treatment starts three days from now, only three days to adjust before I'm thrown into hazy, pain-filled days that run together. Work starts four days after that, and I'm not looking forward to working under George. 'It's unethical,' I think to myself, 'we _interned_ together for God's sakes.'

I'm so absorbed in my thoughts that I don't even realize that I've run into something solid, papers flying.

"I am _so_ sorry!" I say, bending to pick up the scattered medical forms.

"I may forgive you," a familiar voice teases, and I lift my head up to meet sad cobalt eyes.

"You better. Guess what?"

"What?"

"I'm coming back to work!" I gush, hardly able to contain my excitement, "I get to do surgeries, and I get to present and do sutures-"

"Okay, I'll stop you at sutures. You won't want to be doing them after awhile."

"Maybe. But I'm back! It's good to have something back the way it was, you know?"

"Yeah," he answers seriously, giving me the feeling that we're not talking about the same thing anymore, "I do."

He's giving me the McDreamy look and I can't help it, I imagine that it's three years ago and wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer. His eyes are wide as my lips meet his. I pull away first, gasping for air and wondering what the hell I'm doing.

"Let's go to the pier," he says, and I smile, awkwardness forgotten.

"Let's."

--

The pier's quiet, deserted. Nobody comes here in February, nobody except us. It seems personal, somehow as personal as our conversation yesterday. I'm bundled in mittens, gloves, George's old hat with the ridiculous pom-pom, my new black coat with the Norwegian toggles. Derek still looks like a New Yorker, with his plaid scarf and leather gloves, his black leather coat. The sun's almost disappeared under the horizon, purple and orange and blue covering the sky, tinting the clouds. We don't talk, we don't need to. We don't touch, but we're close, buried in snow with our legs stretched out, arms behind our backs, supporting us. We're in one of the last snow piles left, most of them have melted away, leaving patches of frozen dead grass.

It's perfect, in a completely simple way. It's perfect in a way that my life usually isn't. It's moments like this that make me wish I didn't have cancer.

On the way home, sitting in Derek's car with the heater on full blast because of my constant sneezing, I ask a question that's been on my mind since seeing that gold plaque on the Chief's door.

"Why aren't you Chief?"

He sighs, probably because he's been expecting the question.

"Mark wanted it more than I did."

"But, before I left you talked about it constantly! You've always wanted to be Chief!"

He looks at me curiously, like he can't remember wanting Chief, like he can't remember begging Richard to consider him over Burke.

"That was before you left," he finally says stiffly, pulling into the driveway. He makes no move to get out.

"Aren't you coming in?"

"A little later. I'm going to go take a shower."

"Okay. Come by later, though."

"I will."

I shut the car door, watching as he pulls out.I hug myself to shield the wind, knowing that Derek wasn't taking a shower. He was probably going to drive around aimlessly, trying to make sense of everything that's been thrown at him the last week.

I probably need to plan a driving day.

--

George and Izzie are both inside, curled on the couch and fast asleep at four in the afternoon on their day off. I bring my pillow and comforter down to the living room, barely lugging it down the wood stairs and almost slipping at least a dozen times. I set out my make-shift bed in front of the couch. With my Kleenex box to my right and my glass of water and pill box to my left, I fall asleep below my roommates, below my friends.

**AN: So this was kind of a filler chapter…but that's okay. Next chapter prolly won't be up until the weekend, I'm kind of busy. **

**Same thing; Read. Review. You know the drill. **


	12. This Year

_Turning circles when time again  
it cuts like a knife oh yeah  
if you love me got to know for sure  
Cause it takes something more this time  
than sweet, sweet lies_

"What the _hell _are you doing here?"

I hear somewhere in the back of my mind, snuggling deeper into something warm.

"Izzie, calm down, let Meredith decide if he needs to-"

"No! He's lying there spooning with Meredith and being an ass!"

"I don't mind the spooning," I mumble into an arm, blearily noticing as Derek's head lifts up from between my shoulder and neck.

"She doesn't know!"

I try to lift my head and it throbs horribly, so I rest it back down. I grapple blindly for my pills and after a few moments of searching someone places them in my open palm, helping me sit up. A cool hand covers my forehead, the voices grow softer.

"She has a fever."

"There's some flu medicine in the bathroom."

"You're sure it won't react with the painkillers?"

"Don't even pretend to care about her," Izzie's voice cuts in, bruising the air. A couple of second's later, sounding like a toddler caught drawing on the walls with crayon, she answers, "I already checked. They're fine."

Footsteps. More hands, more cool fingers lying on my arm, cupping my face, raising a glass to my lips. Suppressed yells, calm threats referring towards long, painful deaths. Arguing that doesn't make sense, doesn't connect. Gentle hands; hands that are ripped away by a fiery blonde.

"Leave her alone. She doesn't need you, she has us."

I want to yell that I _do_ need him, but I'm too afraid of hurting Izzie. Derek stays silent, hovering on one side of me and clearly terrified of Izzie. My head's still throbbing, pulsing against my skull infuriatingly. Everyone seems to avoiding everyone else's eyes in the room but me, the patient. The patient who apparently isn't worthy enough to be enlightened with what the hell is going on.

My head hurts.

The room blurs, I slip down into my comforter, feeling the warmth cocoon me, cradling me against my migraine. Offering me a few hour's of escaping. The room fades.

When I wake up, I look at the clock and give a jolt of surprise. The hands read four in the morning. I realize the reason that I'm awake, a sugary sweet smell is wafting through the hallway. I follow the noise of clanging metal, my feet padding silently against the wood floor. I'm shivering, so I grab an afghan that's draped over one arm of our lone living room chair. When I enter the kitchen, Izzie looks up with surprise from her mixing bowl and gives me a wide, overly-cheerful smile.

It's four in the morning.

"Izzie, why isn't Derek here?"

"He had to go," she says firmly, turning her focus back to stirring.

"Izzie, why isn't Derek here?" I repeat insistently.

Her pace quickens and I'm worried that eggs and sugar and flour will end up decorating my mothers' counters.

"You don't know anything about Derek Shepard. You think that he was just waiting for three years, waiting for you to come back. Yes, he left Addison and that's fine, but did you ask him what he's been doing this last year?"

I scoff.

"Derek still cares about me. He may not still love me but he cares about me, and I don't care what he's been doing the past year. We're taking things slow."

"Do you care about _who_ he's been doing?"

"Izzie…"

"No, listen," she says, setting down the bowl and coming around the counter to stand in front of me, "I'm fine with Derek showing his support, helping you out. Well, on second thought, I'm not. But the point is that I can't allow you to get close to him again. He may still care about you, maybe even love you, but the truth is that he's seeing someone else. Until you talk to him and make _sure_ that he's through with her, I can't let you guys spoon in the living room. Clear?"

I don't answer, instead I'm remembering back to my impromptu make-out session with Derek Shepard in the hallway of Seattle Grace, the day at the pier. I feel sick.

"You're a hundred percent sure?" I ask feebly, knowing full well that she wouldn't have warned me if she wasn't sure.

"I'm a hundred percent sure. Muffin?"

--

I spend the rest of the day sulking. I stare at the ceiling in my room, mesmerized by the paint for hours. When my phone rings I feel a twinge of satisfaction with ignoring the call, letting the voice messages from Derek pile up, each one getting more and more desperate. I don't want to talk to him, although I know I probably should. In the end, I write a text, something I haven't gotten into the habit of doing. I punch the keys in hesitantly, like a grandmother trying to figure out the letters on a keyboard.

'_Who is it?' _I write.

My phone vibrates seconds later, and I almost, almost laugh at the image that it sends me. Derek hunched over his phone, his fingers gliding over the keys assuredly. He's had practice, he's been a doctor for the past three years.

'_You don't know her. It's not serious.' _

The nerve. I call him, not wanting to figure out the almost-indistinguishable letters again.

"_It wasn't serious. I'm breaking it off-"_

"I don't want you to break it off. I want you to realize that you just led me on for the second time, let me believe that you waited for me."

"_I did wait for you! And I know that not telling you was awful, unforgivable…but you have to let me try to fix this."_

"Fix what? There's nothing here, Derek, not anymore," I say, almost believing it.

"_Yes there is. You know it, I know it, your friends know it. I haven't spent one minute with her since you came back, and the only reason I haven't broken it off yet is because I've been worried about you."_

"I don't believe you," I say icily before pressing end.

**AN: For all who were worried, there will be no character deaths in this fic. I'm not that mean. I've been writing these chapters super fast…so let me know if they sound rushed or if there are a bunch of mistakes (their probably are). Reviews much appreciated! **

**P.S. The song is This Year by the lovely, talented David Gray. **


	13. Losing Hope

**AN To clarify:**

**Last chapter when Derek drops Meredith off at her house he says he'll come by later and drives off. Then, Meredith wakes up with Derek sleeping next to her. I purposely made it kind of vague but he supposedly came back to Meredith's house later that night like he said he would and just didn't wake Meredith up. **

_Losing hope is easy  
When your only friend is gone  
And every time you look around  
Well, it all, it all just seems to change_

The mark was left  
Man it's never the same  
Next time that you shoot  
Make sure that you aim  
Open windows with passing cars   
A brand new night  
With the same old stars

Listening to Jack Johnson reminds me of rain, of staying inside playing board games and reading books like The Catcher in the Rye, Crime and Punishment, Jane Eyre. Of course, maybe it just reminds me of rain because of the album cover.

It's been two days since I found out about Derek and I've spent the majority of all 48 hours up here, in my room, listening to Jack Johnson.

He's called, texted, left messages with Izzie and George, shown up at my door. I don't know exactly why I turn him away; especially when one text told me that he'd broken it off with the mysterious other woman. I guess this is my self-induced time to think, to sort out whatever relationship Derek and I are inevitably going to start.

I have my first session of Chemo today, something I've been dreading all week. My appointment's at two, only an hour away. I sluggishly pull on a pair of not-so-new sweatpants; slip a long-sleeved black t-shirt over my head. George knocks lightly on the door frame a few minutes after I'm done changing.

"Hi."

I don't greet him, staring into the mirror and tugging my hair into a pony tail. I look thin, tired, my eyes a dull grey and my face pale. I wonder what I'll look like in a month, six months, a year.

"Are you ready to go?"

I sigh.

"Do I have to?" I ask weakly.

"Yes. You're not having second thoughts, are you?" he asks nervously.

"No, I'm not having second thoughts. It's just that…last time I started Chemo it drained me so much that I could barely drag myself out of bed every morning to go to work. I'm just trying to enjoy the energy I have now," I say, never looking away from the unrecognizable reflection in front of me; the stranger in the mirror.

I see George's reflection too, his worried face hovering over my right shoulder. He shifts nervously from foot to foot, unsure of what to say. After all, what is there to say to a cancer patient? He turns away without saying anything and I follow him downstairs, pulling on my coat and sliding a purse up one arm. I hear the door open and assume its George, going out to start the car. I'm surprised when I turn around to find Derek staring back at me, looking like he hasn't slept in days. He looks like my reflection.

"I know you're upset," He begins, knowing that there's no way for me to run away.

"Does George know you're here?"

"I know you're upset," he repeats, ignoring my question, "but I've explained everything to you and the least you could do is yell at me."

"I'm not upset."

"You're not?" His face lights up momentarily, before turning dark, "You didn't listen to my messages, did you."

It's a statement, not a question.

"I didn't need to. You're sorry, I get that. I just need thinking time. Don't you ever need that?"

"Meredith," he grits out, noticeably frustrated, "one of those messages….I…I let you know who I was seeing."

My mouth opens and closes, like a fish. The room's filled with a heavy, uncomfortable silence and I know that I probably don't know her, don't want to…but a small part of me wonders, wonders why he would tell me who it was if I didn't know her. He looks ashamed, his eyes down and his face flushed.

"I lied," he admits quietly, "I knew you'd stop talking to me if you knew…I assumed since you were avoiding my calls…"

"Who is it, Derek?"

"You have to understand that we hated ourselves for it…I knew she loved him and she knew I loved you," He sucks in a breath of air and I fight the urge to run for the door, to get as far away from Derek Shepard as possible, "It was about a year ago, two years after we divorced when we first slept together. Mark had just been promoted to Chief; you were gone, supposedly never coming back. It didn't happen often, only in odd intervals when she had gotten into an argument with Mark and I was missing you. The woman is-_was_ Addison."

I can only hear the last word, the woman I had just seen twenty-four hours earlier reading over Mark's shoulder, placing her perfectly manicured hand on Mark's arm was the woman that Derek had been sleeping with for the past year. Before I can think, my palm lashes across his face, leaving a large angry mark on one cheek, and I know that he wasn't surprised. I run and he lets me, making no move to follow me as I

I make it out the door and into the car, climbing in next to a wide-eyed George.

"What took you so long and why is McDreamy watching us leave?"

"Just go," I say, "McDreamy can go to hell for all I care."

"Oh. You found out who it was."

"You _knew?_"

"Of course. Izzie caught them one time in an on-call room. She tells me everything."

"They didn't even have the decency to lock the damn door," I grumble, glaring out the window and wishing that my life could just, for once, get better. In New York I could at least _pretend_ that my life was bright and shiny.

With Derek, even that was impossible.

**Second AN: I really wanted to make Addison the good guy because everyone is always doing Addison as the villain, but I had to add this because I couldn't think of anyone else who Derek would have an affair with and I really wanted it to be a character that's on the show. Hopefully I'll still be able to make Addison somewhat likeable…but who knows. Review…let me know if you like!!!(or not) **

**Song is Losing Hope by Jack Johnson. **


	14. Fighting Angels

_I_

_Fought the angels here today_

_Hope_

_My defeat will end this play_

_Everybody knows that_

_I only have myself to blame_

_Everybody knows that_

_Softly, softly wins the game_

_I'm standing on the curb just outside the JFK airport, waiting for a cab to pull up. My Converse are dangling slightly into the street, hovering on the edge between the known and the unknown, familiar and unfamiliar. I reach up to feel the bald spot just above my left ear. If I had stayed any longer in Seattle, I would have had to explain why my hair was falling out. _

_My suitcases are fanned out in front of me, a backpack slung over a shoulder. I'm wearing an old 'I'm with the band' t-shirt under my black coat, white-washed jeans hiding my sharp hip-bones. These were the only clothes that I hadn't packed or given to Christina. I look like I'm sixteen, only my hair is dirty blonde instead of pink. _

"_Lady, do you want a ride or not?" _

_I nod hurriedly and pick up one of my suitcases while an overweight cab driver grabs the other. _

"_You've never been to New York before," he says once we're both in the car and I've told him the address._

"_Yes I have," I insist, before adding in a guilty voice, "But I was with my mother…and I was five."_

_He laughs, adjusting the mirror so that he can see me. _

"_You'll never make it in this town," he says, shaking his head. Pressing my forehead to the dirt-speckled window and seeing buildings that stretch forever, I believe him. _

I'm scheduled to have a cycle of Chemo every week for four weeks. I'm nervous, sitting in the waiting room, because I know that George will have to see me afterwards; that he'll have to see me at my worst.

He's slid down the chair so that he's half-way to the floor, the back of his head resting on the back of the chair and his legs bent out in front of him. I grab his sleeve impulsively to get his attention.

"When I get done, I'll need more water."

I hold up my empty Evian bottle.

"You told me, already," he says with a small smile, "I got it."

"And can we go to Target tomorrow so I can get new shampoo?"

"You're making me nervous."

"You don't have to stay here you know. It'll be awhile and I can just call you when I'm done…"

"I want to be here," he insists, and gratitude threads through me.

"Thanks, George."

A nurse calls my name, leading me through bright halls and into a small room; they start the IV.

--

George holds my hair behind the hospital after treatment. I know that he barely recognizes me with the dark circles around my eyes and my pale, drawn face. He helps me back to the car, one arm around my waist and the other pushing back the hair that's stuck to my forehead. He looks worried, his eyes trained on my shaking hands.

"It's normal," I assure him, and he nods.

He opens the car door for me, laying a supportive hand on my back as I crawl in. He hands me the full water bottle and I greedily swallow half the water in one gulp. My head slumps against the window and I close my eyes.

--

The kitchen's warm the next morning, sunlight making it bright and shiny. Izzie's bent over the sink, scrubbing a skillet and when she looks up to the sound of me opening the refrigerator, the pan clatters to the bottom of the sink.

"Holy hell!" she cries, startled.

"I don't look _that_ bad."

"Yes, you do. But Jesus, you scared me!"

I lift up a nearly full container of Chinese take-out, bringing it up to my nose and cringing.

"Do you guys ever clean out the fridge?"

"No," Izzie says lightly, picking up the skillet again, "I heard you talked to Derek."

"I wouldn't call it talking. More like me running away."

"Ah. So you know."

"Yes, I know. And I'm a little bit curious as to why you didn't tell me."

Izzie shrugs, "I figured he should tell you himself. You deserved to hear it from him."

"Yeah but he had to be prompted by you to even talk about it. He's such an ass."

"That's what I thought."

I shut the refrigerator door after pulling out an Evian. Collapsing into one of the chairs pulled up to the island in the center of the kitchen, I unscrew the top of the water.

"And with Addison! I mean, with anyone else I think I'd at least be able to accept it, I mean; I was gone for three freaking years. But _Addison_ and I- we were maybe actually going to become friends and Mark-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down," Izzie says, snapping off her cleaning gloves and turning around to lean over the counter and stare at me, "I don't know what you know about Mark and Addison's relationship but it's probably not as solid as you think it is. Yes, they got engaged a couple weeks ago, and yes, they're happy now, but Mark has cheated on her a few times, too. I don't know who slept with who first but they've always had this weird you-cheat-I-cheat motto that's never really disappeared."

"So you're trying to tell me that Mark cheated and Addison just ran back to Derek?"

"Who knows? I'm just saying that Derek has always had this weird tug-of-war going with Mark and maybe he just wanted to hurt Mark for destroying his marriage."

"But why wouldn't he tell me when I got back? And I really want to know how often this whole sex thing has been happening."

"Because he's an ass. And I couldn't tell you how often because believe it or not neither Derek nor Addison tells me how much forbidden sex they've been having."

"Ugh, men are so dumb," I grumble, swiveling my head to glance at the clock, "Shit! It's already three in the afternoon?"

"Yep. We thought you'd want your sleep."

"Yes, but _three in the afternoon_?"

"Hey, enjoy it while it lasts. In a couple days you'll have to be an intern again."

"Don't remind me."

**AN: Good? Bad? Somewhere in-between? This is a filler chapter, as you've probably gathered. Meredith's been kind of depressed in the past few chapters so now I'm going to try to cheer her up a little with Izzie and hopefully the fic will start to get less depressing, but who knows? Review, please!!! Constructive criticism is amazing!!!!**


	15. Stalking

_Two weeks away feels like the whole world should have changed  
but I'm home now, and things still look the same  
I think I'll leave it till tomorrow lo unpack, try to forget for one more night  
that I'm back in my flat  
on the road where the cars never stop going through the night  
to a life where I can't watch the sun set,  
I don't have time, I don't have time_

Izzie and I are looking unhealthily suspicious while we sit in Izzie's beat-up car on a street we've never been on before, hidden behind the glare on the windshield. It's deserted in this part of town, which gives our impromptu adventure a layer of excitement, of risk. Or at least that's what I think; Izzie's not too thrilled about being parked in front of this particular apartment complex.

"Can we just go, please?" Izzie pleads, "This breaks _so_ many girl codes. Plus, what the hell are you going to say when you ring the doorbell?

"Ooh look, here she comes. Wait for it….wait for it…she's in. Wish me luck."

"I will not wish you luck!" Izzie calls right before I shut the door, "and I'm only your chauffeur because I don't trust you to drive my car."

I ignore her, stepping lightly over the frozen grass that crunches underneath my weight and onto the pathway that leads up to the building. I look for a last name, press a button. I say my name into the intercom and door buzzes. I take a deep breath, open the door, take the elevator to the top floor. The pent-house.

It's funny, because I always assumed beautiful, intelligent, happy people lived in towering apartment buildings like this with the best views of the city. Now, I know that beautiful, intelligent _un_happy people with endless secrets live in apartment buildings with the best views of the city. I knock, already feeling anger burn behind my eyes. I try to control it, fight it, but when the door swings open and she's standing there; tall, poised, beautiful…I snap.

"How long?" I demand, "How long did you screw Derek to get back at Mark?"

"W-what?" she stammers, and I get a small spark of satisfaction at watching us switch roles. For once, I have the upper hand.

"How long?"

She sighs, probably resigning herself to the fact that I knew her secret. She swings the door open wider and gives an exaggerated sweeping gesture with one arm, as if accepting her loss of control. I flip out my phone and dial the familiar number, telling Izzie that she can pick me up later. I can't see Izzie but I know she understands, I can see her car from out the window, pulling away from the curb. I step in cautiously, suddenly aware of the fact that she could kill me in this apartment and that no one would ever know. If she can coordinate all aspects of every outfit she wears, than she probably won't have a problem covering up murder.

After shutting the door I follow her into a rose-colored living room with white furniture. They probably have a maid come every week to keep the chairs and couch unnaturally white. We sit across from each other, her attention focused on me. She begins to talk.

"You have to understand that Mark and I never really trusted each other for the longest time. We're better now, but a year ago? We were just starting out and I was still kind of upset about my split from Derek. About a year ago, a month after Mark and I started seeing each other again, I caught him with one of the nurses," she pauses, her face turning stormy, "I went to the only person who was as broken as I was."

"Why'd you keep sleeping with Derek if you'd already gotten him back for what he did to you?"

"It wasn't like I _kept _sleeping with him. It wasn't continuous, it was….spontaneous. Whenever Mark and I had a horrible fight I'd show up at his trailer. It hasn't happened for at least a month and," she cringed, "it's hopefully _never_ happening again. Derek was heartbroken when you left; his affair with you meant more to him than our marriage."

She looked so sad that I wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that Derek loved me then, that he didn't just want to hurt Mark.

"Didn't you ever feel like you were just the woman that Derek used to get back at Mark?"

I'm growing more confident with my questions and Addison notices, laughing.

"All the time! But for some reason that's what I needed then."

"I just-" I falter, wondering if I should cross the line between personal and professional. I know that I've probably already crossed that line a few questions ago and plus, you only live once, "I just feel like he always runs back to you. Like I'll always be the dirty mistress who he chose because he wanted to be daring."

"Do you realize how much effort I put in to get him to notice me? Once when he was at the hospital for a late shift I called and told him that Mark and I were having sex in his trailer just so he'd come home."

"Did he?"

"No. He didn't believe me. Odds are he didn't even hear what I said."

I let out an uneasy chuckle because who knows? He may have been with me. There's nothing left to say and yet I stay, and she offers some leftover coffee cake with Margaritas even though it's noon. 'Live a little,' she says, so I go with her to the kitchen and we have glass after glass. We're both laughing, tension completely gone when we

hear the lock on the door turn and a light clang as someone drops keys onto a counter. Mark looks stunned at my appearance, looking questioningly at Addison. She shrugs. The room spins.

"Meredith, we have to stop meeting like this," he teases. "First Joe's and now my apartment? You're either trying to get me to fall in love with you or in desperate need of psychiatric help."

"I'm not _that_ drunk," I say.

"Still. If I had come home an hour later I bet you would have been."

"True," I admit, "But I was bonding with Addison. Don't I get points?"

Addison snorts. She's had a few more Margarita's than I have.

"Sure you do. Now I'm going to call a cab so that you don't kill yourself while I'm taking advantage of my fiancé."

"Call Izzie," I say, my words adopting an almost imperceptible slur.

"Izzie it is."

I'm at a good stage of drunk, I realize while waiting for Izzie and watching Addison slow dance with Mark in the middle of their kitchen. Not drunk enough to embarrass myself but drunk enough to forget how weird it is to be having drinks with Addison after having a heart-to-heart about her having sex with her ex who is my potential boyfriend.

My life is officially too confusing.

It's so strange to see Addison and Mark so…in love. I have to remind myself that they've both cheated, hurt each other. Of course, Addison _did_ drink nearly five glasses of alcohol. Still, if they were like this for the rest of their lives, dancing to music that only they could hear, maybe there _was_ still hope for the dirty mistresses.

**AN: Non-depressing enough? I hope so cause it gets so old just to write angst (although I love it). Too much fluff is equally bad though so let me know if I go overboard. Sorry there's no MerDer in this chapter, but the next one will probably have some of that. Only problem is that once I get them together again it's going to be angsty…I might want to keep it light for another chapter. I don't know. It's pretty much up to you guys so review!!**

**Song is Sand in my Shoes by Dido **


	16. Dirty Mistresses

_Walk with me  
Suzy lee  
Through the park and by the tree  
We will rest upon the ground  
And look at all the bugs we found  
Safely walk to school without a sound  
Safely walk to school without a sound_

I'm an intern again. Granted, I do feel old and stupid, but I'm an intern again. Everything seems so familiar, like there's been a part of me that's stayed here for the past three years.

I trail behind George, doodling on my notepad in my scrubs while the other interns are scribbling notes so fast that I get a headache. He's giving us a tour, just like Bailey did for us four years ago, leading us into the OR and obviously enjoying the new interns' disbelieving expressions. He winks at me while he's handing out assignments, the first time he's broken his stern frown. It's strange, having George O'Malley as the Bailey to these interns. To me, he'll always be Bambi.

"Careful," I warn as the interns scramble off in all directions, "Pretty soon they'll be calling you the Nazi."

"Really?" he asks hopefully.

"Definitely."

His lips lift into a half-smile and he starts to walk away.

"Hey! George!" I yell, "Aren't you forgetting someone?"

"Oh right," he says, snapping his fingers and turning to walk backwards, "You're supposed to see the Chief. Then, you get to suture in the pit. Yeah!"

I roll my eyes while he gives me two thumbs up and make my way over to the elevators. I want to take the stairs and eliminate the risk of a confrontation with a certain neurosurgeon, but I can't bring myself to suffer through three flights of hell.

Thankfully, the elevator is empty.

I hum lightly to myself while two floors fall away, curiously ecstatic to be back. I don't even mind that I have to face Sloane for the first time since he caught me in his apartment drinking with his fiancé. Of course, the dangling goal of a surgery might have something to do with my unbelievably good mood.

I knock lightly on the door and a muffled voice invites me to come in.

"Ah, dirty mistress! We've got some things to work out," Mark says, straightening papers and sliding them into a drawer before telling me to sit down.

He rubs his hands together like a kid with his pick of Christmas presents to unwrap. I nod slowly, not really having any clue what he wants to work out.

"You're schedule, for one," he prompts, noticing my lost expression, "and health care and you have to take a few exams for physical and emotional capability…etc. etc. etc. All in all we could be here all day. Well actually, _you_ could be here all day, _I_ have a shit load of work to do!"

I give him a blank stare, wondering briefly if he could get into trouble for taking speed.

"So! You're schedule. What days do you have Chemo?"

His face turns somber and he gives me an intense stare.

"Um…well, Wednesdays, at two. Every week for four weeks."

"Okay. Well do you want to work in the morning of Wednesday and then come in for a late shift Thursday every week? I want to give you time to rest."

"Yeah, that'd be great. But, um, how will I make up that time?"

"You can make it up later," he dismisses, "Seattle Grace can pay for your treatment-"

"No, it's okay. I can make it-"

"Did she tell you how much?"

"Yes," I admit, "and it's a little…expensive, but-"

"They'll pay. Now, tests. I've set it up for you down in the file room, we really should have done this a couple days ago but, you were drinking with Addison! Just kidding. Well, you were, but that's okay. Actually I just didn't have the test ready. So, I think that's it…"

I think I've officially just entered a parallel universe.

"Mark? Are you okay?"

"Fine, just great. Why?"

"Well, because you seem a little…" I trail off, unable to find a suitable adjective.

"Energetic? Happy? Freaking _crazy?"_

"Well-yeah."

"Addison slept with Derek."

"I thought you knew!"

"_You_ knew?"

"Um….yeah. Izzie let it slip."

His posture slumps and his smile is gone.

"I knew about the first time. Hell, it was in my bed…but I accepted it because I couldn't be a hypocrite now could I? But apparently it's been going on for a year! A _year_!"

"So this is you…" I glance around the immaculately clean office, take an apprehensive sweep of Mark and his wrinkled clothes, "coping."

"I don't know what to do!" he cries, falling backward and getting dangerously close to missing his chair, "I mean, one minute we're happy, dancing, _dancing_ in our kitchen. The next morning she's telling me that Derek and her were having sex in on-call rooms whenever we got into a fight! Our last fight was like a month ago! She was having _sex_ with _Derek_ a _month_ ago!"

"I'm just going to…go. Okay?"

"Don't," he pleads, "I'm ranting. I swear you can rant to me whenever you need to, but I need to get this out."

"Okay," I give in, sinking back into my chair, "rant."

There's a long pause and I nod encouragingly.

"I forgot where I was," he confesses, grinning sheepishly. I laugh, a genuine, tangible laugh and he laughs too, shaking his head.

"God, everything's so confusing right now."

"What are you going to do?" I ask, secretly afraid that he'll burst into tears.

"I don't know. I mean, I should be able to forgive her. I cheated on her a lot when we first started but…I really love her, you know? And I'm starting to wonder if she really loves me."

"She loves you," I blurt without thinking.

"Maybe. But how are we going to survive _marriage_ if we can't even keep our hands off other people?"

I don't have an answer for him, and I don't think he expects me to. I stand up.

"I'm sorry that I'm laying all this on you, I know that you have a lot to deal with right now…"

I ignore his apology, instead going around his desk and giving him a completely platonic hug. When I start to pull away, though, there's a look that he gives me. A look that is definitely not platonic. He moves closer, too close, and for a second I wonder what it would be like to kiss Mark; what it would be like to hurt Derek.

I understand Addison on some level, while I'm nearly nose to nose with Mark. I

understand that insane pull to cross the line and forget about who you love and why. I understand that logic flies away while you're trying to sort through envy, temptation, love.

Still, even if I understand her, I know that I can't let this get more complicated. I can't add this to my list of mistakes. I disentangle his arms from mine, and they fall to his sides limply, his face showing disappointment.

"We're the dirty mistresses, Mer," he says weakly.

"Yes, we're the dirty mistresses. Which is why we'll never work," I state firmly.

"We could work if we tried."

"We could," I agree, nodding, "But we're not going to. Because eventually you're going to go back to Addison, and I will go back to Derek."

"Yeah, you're right, I guess," he gives in, lost in his thoughts.

"I'm going to go do my test now and we're going to forget this," I wave at the space between us, "ever happened."

"Right. Never happened. Wait, nothing happened anyway, I don't get it."

"Well, whatever. We're going to forget what _almost_ happened. Happy?"

"Got it."

"And Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"I hope you work it out with Addison."

He smiles sadly.

"Me too, Mer, me too."

When I click the door shut to Mark's office and push the elevator button again, though, I'm holding two fingers up to my lips, wondering.

**AN: So I know that was mean. I don't even know if anything's going to happen between them but, you know, there's potential for more drama later. Meredith's kind of pissed at Derek right now so it kind of makes sense. But Addison would be pissed…I don't know. Let me know what you think- Review! **

**Song is We're Going to be Friends by the White Stripes**

**Oh, and I changed the title because the old one didn't really fit anymore…**


	17. Lockers and OnCall Rooms

The next days pass slowly. I've managed to dodge Derek every time he's close to cornering me, and I'm honestly trying to remember exactly _why_ I'm dodging him. His ex best friend, the man I almost had an incredible lapse in judgment with, has been easier to stay away from; he's been locked in his office around the clock.

As for me, I stay huddled behind George at work, praying that I won't run into anyone on my list of people to avoid. The days run together and when I try to make sense of the last week, broken images appear, drawn out over hours and hours of patients' charts and exams. I still haven't seen the inside of the OR since I started and it's been grating on me. Surgery is probably the only thing right now that can get me out of the rut that I've apparently fallen into. Every day seems to get a little bit duller, so dull that today I'm considering facing Derek; if only so that I'll have something to do. Something that may take my mind off of everything else that's wrong.

--

I sleepwalk through the days and fall into a fitful sleep every night, wandering through dreams with bright lights and white walls.

I'm fading away I notice, alarmed. I'm dissolving, evaporating.

I've become a shadow.

My latest Chemo session has caused my latest tragedy; waking up to find half my hair resting innocently on my pillow-no longer attached to my head. I screamed, horrified, although I was expecting it. Izzie and George stumbled in, rubbing their eyes and wearing identically confused expressions.

So I'm here, pushing a cart through the dizzying aisles of Target, what's left of my hair carefully wrapped in a bandana, half-heartedly throwing in everything from new pillowcases to shampoo to an unbelievably huge box of chocolates. I figure if I don't have a boyfriend then I at least need chocolate. After all, I _have _been celibate for over three years now.

Next I go towards the skin care section, running my hand over a few of the bottles, comparing prices. It smells like perfume and make-up. I pick out the most expensive one, turning the corner and heading back to the front of the store. The cashier looks bored, her mouth full of chewing gum and her hands scanning my stuff expertly, like she's done it a million times. I wonder if I'll look like that once I finally earn a spot in the OR. Will my hands perform an Appendectomy like they've done it a million times before? Will I eventually get bored of surgery?

--

Izzie's still at home when I get back, waiting to make sure that I actually come to work.

"Do you think I'd skip work to go shopping at Target?" I ask while I struggle through the door with three bags and find her watching T.V. in the living room.

"No, but I also didn't expect you to scream at you're roommates earlier this morning."

"Half my hair is gone!"

"I understand-"

"No. Izzie, _half of my hair is gone_!"

"And you make a run to Target because…"

"I need to keep the rest of my hair from falling out. See?" I dig through one bag and pull out two bottles of shampoo for extra-fine hair, "I even found it in lavender."

"That's nice. But you do realize that you're fifteen minutes late for work, right?"

"Really? Shit, George is going to kill me."

"You go girl," Izzie calls while I grab my keys and scramble for the door, "Tell George that I'll be there in about an hour."

"K!" I yell back, slamming the door a little too hard.

--

The locker room's deserted. I spin my lock and pull out my scrubs, pulling my charcoal-grey sweater over my head. I here the door click and a familiar voice filling the room, echoing off the walls.

"It's been awhile."

I jump, more than a little creeped out. Derek's leaning against the door frame, grinning, his eyes a deep aqua blue. He points to my head, "What's this?"

"Oh," I say, self-consciously fingering the edge of my black bandana, "It's um…nothing."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair while I pull my scrub top over my head.

"Do you mind?"

He turns around, blushing while I change pants.

"Done."

He turns back to face me.

"Why don't you want me to know that your hair's falling out?"

I'm surprised at his bluntness.

"Who says my hair's falling out?"

"Meredith Grey. You have…a disease. A disease where the treatment causes your hair to fall out. And you're wearing a bandana."

I cock my head to the side, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at knowing that Derek has trouble saying 'Cancer' too. It's comforting to know that I'm not the only one.

"Ok. You guessed it, I'm Danny Devito and I'm wearing a bandana. But that doesn't mean that I'm talking to you."

"So what you just said…that was to the other guy in the room?"

His eyes are doing that annoying twinkling thing. Then, he starts to yell for the mysterious guy to come out from behind the lockers and suddenly a flare of anger ignites and I'm calling him a bastard and stomping out of the room. As I take a few breathes to calm down once I'm a few hallways away, I wonder if it's just stress or if I should see a therapist. My vote's on the latter.

He catches up, of course, because that's what guys with annoyingly perfect hair do. They catch up. He grabs my arm and hauls me into an empty on-call room and when he lets go I swear I can feel a bruise forming.

"Jesus, ever heard of anger management?"

"I know you're upset with me, and you have every right to be. But I've been trying to talk to you for _a week_. A full ninety six hours of waiting and hoping that you'll come to me. That I won't have to _make_ you talk to me. Besides that excruciating ninety six hours, I also waited and hoped for a full _three years_ before that. I think I deserve a ten minute talk in an on-call room."

I look down at my tennis shoes, trying to seem bored.

"You used up three minutes already."

"Mer-"

"And you say that you waited three years like it's a tremendous sacrifice, but you were married! How was I supposed to know that you were going to leave her? Oh! And what does sleeping with Addison fall under, waiting or hoping?"

He sighs again, and I'm beginning to wonder if he can go two minutes without over-exaggerated exhaling.

"Do you honestly think that I would keep leading you on for the rest of our lives, never leaving my wife?"

"Yes," I say, shocking both of us.

"So you see yourself as weak and me as cruel."

"Yes."

I'm more confident now, my voice growing cold.

"I feel like we're going backwards…"

"Ten minutes are up and I'm really late for work so…"

"I'll page George. We're not going anywhere until you've actually talked to me and I've actually talked to you."

He steps in front of the door, folding his arms across his chest and giving me a stern glare. I want to hit him.

**AN: I'm back to drama. It's just so hard to stay away from… Review!!!!**

**Oh and in response to previous reviews- this story is like 99.9 MerDer. Sorry, MerMark people!!! (I think they're cute too)**


	18. Life of an Intern

_Didn't you _

_Love me faster than the devil _

_Run me straight into the ground _

_Drowning deep inside your water _

_Drowning deep inside your sound _

I cross my hands over my chest angrily, looking out the window to avoid his intense stare. Now that he has me cornered, he seems to have lost his words. So we stand awkwardly, uncomfortable silence threatening to drown us. He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I'd missed.

"We need to talk."

"I think you made that clear."

"Meredith…"

"Look, if you don't know what to say then why don't you just let me out? Obviously we're not going to get anywhere today."

This seems to wake him up.

"It was just sex, Meredith. You were gone for three years, what did you expect me to do, wait?"

"No, I expected you to not act like a two year old. Just because Mark hurt you didn't mean you had the right to go around and hurt him back. They're happy, Derek, or at least they were until you got involved again."

"It wasn't because of Mark," he protests before adding a guilty, "at least not at first."

I close my eyes, making a mental list of all of the ways to escape this room. I could go through the window, although we're three stories up. I could fight Derek, although I'd lose. I could feign a mental breakdown, or faint, although Derek would probably see through it.

My chances aren't looking good.

"I have rounds," I say, my last attempt at getting out of here.

"I already paged George. Listen, you have to believe me that this was about me losing you, not about revenge."

"So every time something happens I should expect you to go to Addison?"

"Something _'happening'_ is when we fight. Something _'happening' _is when you lock me out of the trailer or make me sleep on the couch. Something _'happening'_ is not when you leave for three years without saying goodbye."

"So that's what this is about? You're still bitter about me leaving, although you know why."

"It doesn't matter why! When you left, I thought it was because of me! I thought you left to get away from me and lying to Addison, and after two years I gave up. Are you going to punish me for moving on?"

"It's more like I'm punishing you for who you moved on _with_."

"So you're never going to get past this?" he says in a dark and twisty voice, falling from shouting to just above a whisper.

"I don't know."

"Tell me what to do."

"You can't just _do_ something to make it better. You have to give me time."

"But Meredith, I want to be there for you. I want to take you to Chemo and go with you to doctors' appointments."

"Well, you can't."

I shuffle my feet and stare stubbornly at everything in the room besides Derek. He tries to reach out for me but I flinch, stepping back.

"Oh, come on. Now I can't even touch you?"

"No," I say coldly, finally getting up the courage to lift my face and glare at him. He laughs, startling me and my eyebrows knit together, my frown deepening.

"You think this is _funny_?"

"Well," he says, grinning and stepping closer, "You are kind of cute when you're mad."

"T-t-there's a…line," I stammer as he continues to move closer, backing me against the wall.

"Is it real or imaginary?" he asks into my ear, before lowering his lips to mine.

--

I throw on my scrubs hurriedly, anxious to get back to work and forget this ever happened. Derek grasps my arm, pulling me closer to kiss me. I turn my face in the last second so his lips land on my cheek.

"So we're back to this. You just had sex with me in an on-call room and you won't let me kiss you. Does that make sense to you?"

"Yes. I hate you and I wish you would go away. This," I wave between us and feeling a sense of déjà vu, "can't happen again."

"But it will," he says seductively, grinning.

When he sees my expression his face becomes mockingly stern.

"Right. Never again."

"Good," I say, nodding my head even though I know that he's making fun of me, "I'm going now."

I quietly slip through the door, running towards the nurse's station to hopefully catch George. He's there, doing charts in the corner with one foot propped up against the wall. When he looks up briefly and catches my eye, his face turns worried and while he's speed walking in my direction I look nervously around, trying to come up with an excuse.

"Are you okay?"

"I had sex with McDreamy," I blurt, before my hand flies in front of my mouth. Sometimes I wish I couldn't talk. George face changes from worried to mildly concerned to angry in less than a second.

"You had sex with McDreamy."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"And that's why you're," he checks his watch, "three hours late for work?"

"Not exactly. There were some other things this morning…."

"Are you okay?" he asks again, placing his hand on my arm.

"Yeah, yeah. Just give me scut or something. Or patients' charts, that could be fun."

He drops the stack of the patient charts he's been filling out into my arms. I sag under the weight, struggling to keep upright.

"I wasn't actually serious," I yell after him and he looks back and smiles.

"This is what people do when they're three hours late for work because they've been having inappropriate sex with a neurosurgeon."

**AN: Like? Not like? Review, as usual. **

**-Song's Love and Memories by O.A.R.**


	19. Flirting With Derek

**Thanks for all the amazing Reviews!!**

Derek finds me later, looking over my shoulder while I continue to fill out charts. I've been doing it for two hours, now. George and the rest of the flock of interns are performing open-heart surgery, leaving me to deal with an ex and a pile of papers.

"I'm mad, leave me alone," I mumble distractedly, never looking away from the string of words in front of me.

"You didn't seem too mad earlier."

"That's the problem," I explode, surprising both of us and whirling around to face him, "We skip past half the arguing and go straight to the sex!"

He recovers quickly, sliding a grin into place, "But that's who we are," he says, "We're sexy people."

"You're not helping," I scold, jabbing his chest with my pen.

"What exactly am I supposed to be helping you with?"

"You're supposed to be helping me avoid you."

"Oh, right. I'll remember that next time we both have to do charts. I'll just, you know, do them in the bathroom or something."

"You don't have to do charts," I scoff, "you're an attending, just get an intern to do them or something."

"You're an intern."

"Besides the one standing in front of you."

"But I don't want just any intern to do them," he whines, "I want a hot one."

"I'm going to go do my charts in the bathroom."

"Meredith," he calls after me in a sing-song voice as I stomp away, "Mer-e-dith."

The nurses are looking, cat-calling, telling me to listen to the man. My face is hot when I turn around to give him a glare.

"You know," he says, wagging a finger at me, "that same glare caused us to-"

"Don't. Say. Another. Word," I shoot back, crossing the gap between us and pulling him away from the whispering nurses, "do you want the entire hospital to find out?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"No, Derek, that is not a trick question. And you're an ass."

"That's not what you said before…"

"Shh!"

He rolls his eyes, "Meredith, it's not like the entire hospital doesn't already know that we're bound to end up in bed together. Come on, history repeats itself."

"Derek!"

"You're warming up to me."

"Say's who?"

"You. Yesterday you would have slapped me by now."

I laugh and he chuckles.

"Dinner tomorrow?"

Before I can answer, I get a peculiar, deer-in-the-headlights look, looking over Derek's right shoulder. Derek notices and turns to look in the same direction.

"Mark? Don't tell me…"

"No, don't even finish that sentence. It's just…I feel bad for him, you know?"

"You do remember who you're talking to, right?"

"Oh yeah. You're the one who made him like that."

"Hey! I did not do _everything_ to break that relationship…Addison did have a small part to play."

"Yes, she did. But Addison and I already talked and-"

"Wait, wait, wait. You're saying that you talked to Addison- my ex, and you've forgiven her- the one who was in a relationship, but you haven't forgiven me- you're ex, who wasn't in a relationship."

"That's what I'm saying."

"Just clarifying."

We laugh again, and I'm thrown at how easily we can fall back into the way we were. The way we were when we were happy.

I look down briefly before meeting his eyes again, playing with the hem of my scrub top, feeling like this is a first date. We smile comfortably at each other for a second before his face turns nervous and he coughs.

"So, uh. Dinner?"

"Charming."

"Is that a yes?"

"No, that's me letting you know through sarcasm just how pathetic that dinner invitation was."

"Oh," he pauses, "Could you answer, please? This is a little…"

"I think I'll let you sweat for a minute first."

"Mer-"

"Relax! One dinner. We'll see where to go from there."

I turn around to walk away but his voice stops me again.

"Don't you have charts to do?"

"I'm going to go get a hot intern to do them for me," I call back.

Still laughing, I run into something hard. I raise my head slowly, half expecting to see George glaring down at me. Instead, soft, red-rimmed blue eyes meet mine.

"So you two are together now?"

"Mark, its one date."

"And what makes you think he won't sleep with Addison again?"

"Nothing. I have absolutely no evidence that suggests that he won't sleep with her again. What I do know, though, is that if I don't give him this chance then I'll probably be dark and twisty for the rest of my life."

He nods, looking away.

"You know, you could try the same thing with Addison…"

Mark just smiles sadly, "I think I've given her enough chances."

"Mark-"

"It's okay. I'm…okay. I just have to learn to be without her."

"Just…don't cut her completely out of your life, okay?"

"You're pretty amazing, you know that?" he says, smiling and leaving my suggestion unanswered. I give him a look, silently asking him to clarify, well aware of Derek's eyes burning into my back.

"How so?" I ask, looking down while my Converse skim the floor uncomfortably.

"You can deal with him," he waves to Derek, "and cancer and still have the energy to be worried about whether or not Addie and I will get back together."

"Not amazing," I say, looking around self-consciously, "just normal."

"You're not normal," he insists, and I nod, giving in.

"Thanks, Mark."

"I'm here for you. When Derek is an ass… you can come to me."

"That means a lot. You should expect me at least three times in the next week."

He chuckles, and I wave while I walk away, a little bit happier that everything was coming together for once.

**AN: so this is a TON of dialogue, like the last chapter. I don't really know if it works, but Meredith and Derek had to flirt so…oh well. Plus, dialogue hasn't really been that big before these two…so I needed to catch up. Let me know if it works! (or not). Review!!!**


	20. No Date?

"Red or black?" I ask, holding up two dresses dripping from hangers for a cross-legged Izzie sitting on my bed.

"Has he even told you what night you two are going out?"

"No," I admit reluctantly, "but that doesn't mean that I can't be prepared."

"Meredith, this is Derek."

Despite her cryptic words, I understand their meaning. It's been two days, three hours, and twenty four minutes since he asked me to dinner, two days since I said yes. But, for some unknown reason, he hasn't called, written, or so much as looked at me since. It's almost like _he's _avoiding _me._

"I just hope to god that I don't fall for him again," I joke, turning to the mirror and holding each one up to my frame.

"You're picking out date-dresses before you even know if there's going to _be_ a date. I'd say you're already there."

I glare at her playfully through the mirror but she's examining her nails carefully and doesn't see.

"I need Christina," I state suddenly, crawling over my bed to pick up the phone.

"What's wrong with me?" Izzie asks, offended.

"You bake," I state simply, dialing a familiar number.

"_Hello?"_

"Burke?"

"_No, it's Christina."_

"Oh. Well, I'm having issues-"

"_and?"_

"and I'm coming over."

"_Okay. Wait, who is this?"_

I hold the phone away from my ear, staring at it, dumbfounded.

"Meredith. Who else?"

"_I was just making sure."_

"Do you allow people you don't know over?"

"_Technically I didn't invite you."_

"Touché. Are you okay?"

"_Are you?"_

"Christina…"

"_Look, I'm just tired of everyone asking me if I'm okay. If I'm not, I'll tell you."_

There's a pause.

"_I'm not okay." _

"Me neither. But I'm better."

"_Same here. When will you be over?"_

"Give me ten."

--

The house is dark when I pull in, one light on the first floor the only indication that anyone's home. Izzie's car whines when I turn it off. It stops its dull roar, the lights automatically fading. I climb out and survey the enormous house in front of me, feeling awful for not being here when Christina realized that she may not be able to fill it. I open the door cautiously after ringing the doorbell three times, flicking on the light in the hallway. I'm not completely sure how to navigate through all the doors and rooms, but I guess, and on my third try I end up in the kitchen, where Christina is sitting at the bar and chewing a granola bar.

"Why didn't you ring the doorbell?" she asks when I come in and set my purse on the counter, her mouth full.

"I did. Three times."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," I say and we both smile at each other before I clear my throat, "I'm confused about McBoyfriend."

"Nothing's changed."

"Christina," I whine, "I don't know if I should date him again. Am I making a mistake?"

"No. You and McDreamy are perfect for each other. So perfect that I want to throw up. When I'm ready to throw up, you know it's for real."

"I know, right? So I'm pretty sure that I want to date him. But-"

"Oh God, there's a 'but'?"

I nod, going over to the refrigerator and pulling out a beer. Christina motions for me to get her one, too.

"But, he hasn't contacted me in any way, shape, or form since he asked me out! I mean, it's like he was just asking me out to see if I would say yes."

"I don't think he had any doubts about that. And if he did, he's more idiotic than I thought."

"Yeah, well, it's not looking too good at this point."

"Oh, come on, Mer. He's crazy about you! We all saw him while you were gone and…well; he was barely making it to work."

"Maybe he got over it."

"Maybe he didn't."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," I say, before changing the subject abruptly,

"What's Alex doing these days?"

"Oh, he's still here. He actually transferred to Virginia Mason…" She trails off, as if unsure if the hospital name will cause me to hyperventilate.

"I wonder why I didn't run into him. I've certainly been there enough times… I kind of miss him, believe it or not."

"The dark and twisty one's always miss each other."

We laugh and fall into an easy silence, tracing the tops of our beer bottles with our fingertips and shifting our feet on the tile.

I love this house, I decide, taking in the high ceilings and the wide windows.

I had begun to hate my mother's house, the hallways were too dark and the corners were filled with too many memories, my mother's disapproval clinging to the walls stubbornly. True, the Burke's grief had begun to sink into the wood, but it was poignant, loving. My mother was cold and alone, and her house only makes me feel like I'll end up like that, too.

I could see me living in a house more like this, with a two dogs and a man, although the man is still up for discussion. I might just have to switch to women.

**AN: You know the drill, read it, review it (whether or not you like it)! **

**P.S. this is most definitely a filler chapter…I'm sorry. **


	21. Waking Up

_Innocent and in a trance_

_A dance that lasted for a while oh _

_Read my eyes just like a diary_

_Oh remember, please remember oh oh_

_Well I'm not a beggar, but what's more_

_If I hurt you then I hate myself_

_I don't want to hate myself, don't want to hurt you_

The first thing I hear is music, The Clash specifically, and I immediately burrow deeper under my comforter and yell at Izzie to turn it off. With some swear words added, of course. The next thing I hear is a strained, off-key voice singing into my ear-a voice that's low and definitely not Izzie. When I crack open one eye blearily I see Derek, smiling at me through the chorus of Should I Stay or Should I Go.

"You should go," I mumble into my pillow, pulling my other pillow over my ears to block the noise and turning away from him.

"Aw, come on Mer," he laughs, moving to my stereo and pressing pause, "you didn't think I forgot about our date, did you?"

He pulls the blinds, sending light in violently and causing my eyes to screw back shut. He joins me on the bed and I stubbornly push him back, clutching my pillow tighter to my ear.

"You ignored me for two days," I say, still keeping my face buried in my pillow.

"I was getting ready," Derek says, like it's the most obvious explanation in the world.

"Don't screw with me at seven in the morning."

He chuckles and I open my eyes to find him staring back at me with glittering blue eyes.

"I was getting ready for our date."

"For two _days_?"

"Yes."

"But…you ignored me. You didn't request me, or flirt with me in the elevator, or give me the look…"

"I knew I'd give myself away," he replies simply, shrugging and bending closer to shift hair away from my eyes, "and I know how you love surprises."

"I _hate _surprises," I groan, a wave of nausea hitting me unexpectedly. I throw the comforter off me hastily and run for the bathroom. He follows me but I slam the door, hearing a low grunt of pain. I don't want him to see me like this, not when we possibly have a date later tonight. It's a rule; never let a guy see you throwing up in the bathroom twelve hours before you go on a date with him. It ruins the whole kissing thing.

He's banging on the door while I'm hunched over, and when I go to wipe my face on a hand towel the knocking gets worse. I turn on the shower to help drown him out. The water's so hot it burns my skin and I press my hand to my face to try and stop the aching cold. I can see Derek's worried face through the wood of the door, the wrinkles creasing his forehead.

--

An hour later I open the door and Derek topples onto my feet-he's been sitting outside the door waiting for me. There's a Hello Kitty bandage on his nose and my face softens as he scrambles to his feet awkwardly.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," I grit, my face still tinged green and drawn. The worried look, the one I imagined would be carved on his face is staring back at me, "You?"

He touches his nose tenderly, smiling a small smile.

"Sore. And no you're not. Car. Now."

"Derek, I'm fine. Now leave me alone."

"Did I not explain why I haven't talked to you in two days? I'm sorry, but I was planning, and it's going to be-"

"Was," I interrupt, "It _was_ going to be amazing but look at me!"

"Car, now," he orders again, holding my shoulders and ignoring my protests of a repeated 'look at me!'. I feel ashamed just to be going out in public like this. When I have my arms crossed in the passenger seat of Derek's car, though, I realize that he's taking me to a place where no one cares what I look like; he's taking me to the hospital.

"Derek Shepard you are _not_ taking me to the hospital because of nausea. It happens every morning and-"

"Stop. I haven't been there for you and I want to get it checked out, just in case," he pleads, "For me?"

I let a sigh escape my lips and slump down so much that I can barely see out the window. He glances at me quickly, smiling again. I can't understand why he's smiling so much lately.

Another wave hits when Derek swerves into a parking space by the entrance and I have to claw out while the car's still on to empty what's left of my stomach onto the decorative hospital gardens. I feel warm hands rub circles on my back and lead me through the sliding glass doors. He takes care of everything, talking to the receptionist, filling out papers, consulting the doctor while I stare vacantly at the wall. This is becoming a regular occurrence for me.

It takes a while to register that my doctor's addressing me.

"Meredith?"

"Yes?"

"I'm calling Chief Sloane to arrange for you to have the day off. Take this medication," she says while scribbling out a prescription in chicken-scratch handwriting, "every day twice a day. That should help the nausea."

"Thanks," I say, accepting the slip of paper because I'm too exhausted to argue.

"See you tomorrow, for the treatment?"

"Yep."

Derek and my doctor exchange a few more words, Derek's tone hushed and concerned while the doctor speaks calmly back. We leave, Derek stopping to help me back into my coat.

When we get back to the parking lot Derek has a self-satisfied grin plastered on his face.

"What?" I snap.

"Now we can have our date," he exclaims, "and you don't… you know…have to dress up or anything."

I laugh, opening my car door and climbing in.

"It's okay Derek Shepard, you can admit that I'm not the hot intern you once knew."

"Don't worry Meredith Grey," he assures, "you'll always be hot to me."

"Good," I answer, tilting my chin to one side and opening the passenger door self-satisfactorily, "but I still need the full six hours ahead to look presentable."

**AN: Undergoing MAJOR writers block here-hence the not-so-good chapter. But, still, I have some idea about where the 'date' will be heading. I hope. But it may change. Review!! **

**Song is Your Winter by Sister Hazel**


	22. Somebody

_I said, the loving you lost is just one of the costs _

_When you're living in the streets and you're running from cops _

_And everyday that's just the price you pay _

_When you're living by the words and the things you say _

Izzie and I were staring incredulously into the mirror at my reflection, tilting our heads at the same angle and furrowing our eyebrows.

"Are you _sure_ McDreamy told you not to dress up?"

"Positive," I answer back distractedly, taking in the sight of my ripped jeans and long-sleeved tan shirt before glaring at the ridiculous brown-checked hat with the duck bill that Izzie was making me wear.

"You look like a conductor," George laughs from the doorway, voicing my thoughts.

"Izzie, please let me wear a baseball hat, hell, I'd go for a scarf! _Anything _other than this hat," I plead.

"It's cute! And Derek will love it," Izzie assures, nodding. She's probably just trying to get me to stop trying on outfits.

The doorbell rings before I can protest further and I groan, shifting my hat to the side and inwardly shuttering at the person looking back at me in the mirror. George and Izzie start to follow me down the stairs eagerly but I shoo them away. They sit down at the top of the stairs, their feet dangling down the first few steps like two kids spying on their parents.

Unfortunately when I throw open the door I'm not met with wavy dark hair and blue eyes. Instead I'm met with a very, very drunk Mark Sloane slumping on my entryway and returning my smile with a not-so-innocent smirk. The smile slides off my face, fully aware that its five minutes until Derek is supposed to pick me up.

"Cute hat," Mark slurs, reaching up to pull it over my eyes.

"Perfect timing," I mutter sarcastically, looping one of my arms around his waist and attempting to help him inside. A sharp jolt of pain spreads through my back and I drop my arm, rubbing my back while Izzie and George stumble down the stairs to help Mark. Once they drop Mark on the living room couch they come back, looking concerned.

"I'm fine," I assure, leaning against the wall behind the door with my head tilted back and closing my eyes.

They each entangle their arms with mine anyway, repeating their movements and leading me to the chair across from Mark.

"This pain thing is getting ridiculous," I joke half-heartedly.

"Yes, it is," Mark mumbles from the couch, clearly halfway to happy drunk sleep.

"It's not ridiculous," George says, "you're not you're strongest, you just had chemo a couple days ago…"

He trails off when we hear the doorbell ringing again. George, Izzie and I exchange nervous glances before George gets up hesitantly, moving towards the door as if it were a bomb waiting to explode. In a way I guess it is. I hear their voices, George's pointless stalling. I still feel weak so I stay here, where Mark has currently abandoned sleep and decided to get rid of the space between us.

"You're drunk," I say, low and rough so that hopefully he'll get the message without alerting Derek. He starts playing with my hat, turning it back and forth on my head. It scratches my skull and I laugh uncontrollably, hearing Derek finally push his way past George. It tickles.

'_Its times like these that make me fall back on tequila',_ I think bitterly, watching Derek's face turn dark while Mark continues his oblivious, shameless flirting with me.

"So, Mark now, huh?" Derek asks calmly, his eyes testing me.

"He's drunk. Do you really want to accuse me of taking advantage of Mark five minutes before I knew you were coming? He just showed up."

Derek sighs, and I can tell he's decided not to push.

"What happened?"

"Don't know. He's not really in the best position to talk about his feelings," I observe pointedly, shaking off Mark's hand, which has begun traveling up my leg into dangerous territory.

Derek doesn't look amused.

"You're saying he just showed up at you're doorstep to grope you?"

"I love you're hat," Mark says again, shifting his attention yet again to the monstrosity perched on my head. Derek chuckles and nods; shifting from jealous to agreeable in less than a minute.

"That's a great hat," he agrees, ignoring my glare, "you look like a page-boy from the thirties."

"Conductor," I hear George mumble from the corner of the room.

"Oh, yeah! Totally a conductor," Derek laughs, winking at me.

I pretend not to hear them, instead pointing towards Mark.

"What do we do about him?"

"Sleep?"

"I don't think he's anywhere near that right now."

Mark seems to only see me, and I wonder why he doesn't start groping Izzie instead. Things would be a lot less complicated that way.

I slap his wandering hand away again and Derek rolls his eyes.

"Can he just stay here? Because we kind of have a date. George? Izzie?" He asks.

"Dirty mistresses stick together," Mark cuts in, pouting.

"Meredith, can you get up?" Izzie asks in reply, not answering Derek.

"Why wouldn't she be able to get up?"

"She tried to lift Mark."

"I did _not _try to lift Mark!" I insist while Derek looks at me strangely," I was helping him to the couch."

" 'helping'" George says to Derek, forming his fingers into quotation marks.

"It's no big deal, someone can just give me some ice and I'll be fine."

"I guess we'll have to stay here and watch a movie or something," Derek says sullenly, looking at Mark warily and paying absolutely no attention to me.

"Derek! I swear to God if you act like this the entire time that I have cancer then we can just forget the whole dating thing."

"But the 'whole dating thing' is fun, Mer," he teases.

"Not right now it isn't."

"You know you love me. How about this; I'll go get you some ice and if, in an hour, you can walk then we'll go, okay?"

"An hour?" I repeat timidly.

"An hour." 

"Okay."

I stare at Mark while Derek's in the kitchen, hearing his alcohol-induced humming and taking in his sharply chiseled jaw line and his blood-shot eyes. He's me, I realize through an unexpected moment of clarity, he's a self-destructive time-bomb when his life becomes dark and twisty. He chooses numbness over pain, running away over staying and fighting. My eyes well up, and I'm acutely aware of George and Izzie's eyes on me.

This is what I'm like, this is my life. This train wreck who shows up on inappropriate doorsteps and gropes inappropriate people is me.

I rub my eyes forcefully, leaving them red and swollen.

"What's wrong?" They ask, rushing to me.

"He's me," I say simply while they nod, miraculously understanding.

**AN: So this just kind of…happened. I was actually planning some amazing date but then I started writing it and this came out. Don't worry, this is still MerDer, although there will be a little MerMark chemistry just because they're cute. And we love drama. And I kind of see them as being similar, like Meredith and Alex kind of. Let me know if you like…push the purple button!!**

**Song's Somebody by Slightly Stoopid (amazing song you should totally check it out if you haven't already). **


	23. Jack and Rose

Scrunched up uncomfortably between Derek and Mark with Derek's arm looped loosely over my shoulders and Mark's arm strewn awkwardly over my chest, I can barely pay attention to the movie playing. Mark's soft snores are close to my ear, his head resting on the back of the couch. Derek's eyes are trained on the space between Mark and I, looking more than a little disappointed. The ice pressing against my back has already melted through the washcloth it's wrapped in, soaking through to my skin and leaving a wet imprint on my shirt.

"Has it been an hour yet?" I ask hopefully, pulling my knees closer.

"It's been fifteen minutes," George answers back, clearly enthralled with the screen and utterly oblivious to my situation. Didn't anyone besides Derek and I think this whole thing was just a little too twisted? I mean, seriously- I'm trying to start fresh with a guy that I used to be in love with sitting next to both him and his ex best friend who slept with his wife and is now engaged to that same woman. Does that only seem insane to me?

Mark stirs, shifting so that his head falls in my lap. I shoot Derek an apologetic glance.

"Shouldn't we check to see if you're okay now?"

"Derek, you were the one that said an hour."

"I know, but-"

"Well I can't move now! Mark's squishing my organs."

Derek gets an unhealthy gleam in his eye, "I could move him."

"If you mean outside then no."

His shoulders slump and I laugh at his childishness.

"Shh!" Izzie breathes, "This is the good part."

"Iz, it's a chick flick and we have it for another week."

"So?"

"So, I don't think that it needs a 'shh!'"

"It so does!" She yelps, keeping focused on the T.V. but squinting her eyes thoughtfully, "Are you secretly a man?"

"Shh!" George says loudly, causing the room to stare at him.

"Why you gettin' all into it?" Izzie asks.

"I-it-I-"

"That's what I thought," Izzie says, rolling her eyes and tilting her head back to turn her attention on me again, "Meredith, all I'm saying is that you're a chick, which means that you should be genetically programmed to like chick flicks."

"I just think it's a little pathetic to watch other people find their own perfect romances."

"I think it's cute," Izzie says, enraptured by Titanic.

I sneak a glance at Derek and he's staring at me, wearing that smirk that infuriates me.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No really, what?"

"Nothing! I just think you're cute."

"I think you're cute, too," I say back, letting out a confused laugh. Izzie makes obnoxious kissing noises at the kernels of popcorn resting in her hand.

"Why do we even need a movie?" George groans from the floor, "We've got Jack and Rose right here."

"We're not _that_ bad."

They exchange pointed looks before answering in unison, "Yea, you are."

"I hate this movie," I say, somewhat irrelevantly with a pout on my lips.

"Me, too," Derek agrees, crossing his arms stiffly over his chest, "And we have half an hour left."

"You know what? Screw Mark," I say, maneuvering my way out from under him, "I'm pretty sure I can walk now. Ready?"

"A-are you sure?" Derek asks, hope underlying his voice.

"Yeah. See? I'm up. And I'm not collapsed on the floor. Two good signs, right?"

"Thank God. Let's get the hell out of here."

--

"Where are we going?" I ask after an hour in the car, although I don't really care. It feels good to be speeding on the highway at night with lights flashing by and the music turned up loud. I don't even mind that it's The Clash and that it's too cold to open the windows.

"You'll see."

"But I wanna know."

"And you will, once we get there."

"This is so unfair."

"Would you relax? I'm not planning on murdering you and burying your body in the woods."

"Oh, good," I bite out, sarcasm lacing my words, "Load off my mind."

He chuckles, turning off at an exit that I don't recognize. We drive, aimlessly it seems through a serious of stop lights and then we turn a corner and suddenly see it…and burst into laughter.

"What are you laughing about?" He asks, offended.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that you're taking me to an _amusement park, _Derek. It's a little sad, really. Was I supposed to bring a foam finger?"

"Foam fingers are for football, Meredith, and what's sad is that you don't know that. And you're laughing at my romantic date idea."

"It _is _a little laughable."

"No, it isn't. See, I know you have parent…issues, and I know that you didn't have the best childhood and that you probably never had a real birthday party. So I figured, if you haven't had a real birthday party then you've probably never been to an amusement park. Voila- perfect date idea."

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and I roll my eyes, trying to fight the smile that seems to want to creep onto my face.

"You were that desperate for an idea?"

He frowns playfully.

"I thought it was charming."

**AN: So this is me doing gunky date stuff. Does it work? Or do I need to make it sappier? I have a low tolerance for sap so I tend to go the not-so-sappy route. Which may or may not work for this story…let me know!! **

**The purple button gets lonely!! **


	24. Rollercoaster Make Outs

_And as I've often asked before  
Does anybody know  
How scary  
This is for you and is for me?  
Does anybody know?  
Anybody know? oh..._

I had seen the slowly moving Ferris wheel from the car and assumed it would be filled with families, you know, the whole toddler-crying-over-spilt-cotton-candy thing. But as we grew closer I realized with a faint twinge of disappointment that the park was nearly empty. There were a handful of couples, laughing and shoving each other on the shoulder as they stood in line for hot dogs and funnel cakes; licking each other's fingers at the plastic tables next to the stand. I watched them as we crossed the parking lot littered with empty pop cans and gum wrappers, letting the lights guide us to the park's entrance along with the couple's gentle laughter.

"Why aren't there more…"

"Kids?" Derek finishes, reading my mind, "It's nine, and most of the families go home around seven."

"Oh," I say quietly, feeling strange that I didn't really remember when 'bed time' was.

"Hey, you okay? We could go somewhere else…"

"No," I answer quickly, slipping my hand into his and smiling into his mouth as I kiss him, "this is perfect."

"Good. Because you're going with me on Steel Venom."

I give a mock shiver, "Ooh, sounds dangerous."

"Don't mock until you've seen it," he laughs, giving me a pointed glare.

"It doesn't happen to be that towering rollercoaster that seems to go straight up…is it?"

I feel my confidence wane as Derek grins in answer.

"Seriously? You want me to go on _that_?"

"We can make out through the entire thing if you want."

"Derek, I'm not going on that thing."

"You haven't even seen it up close."

"Exactly what I'm afraid of," I mutter back under my breath, although I follow him dutifully up to the ticket booth. I watch him pay for our tickets, a little giddy. I can't believe I'm _here_, about to ride a rollercoaster with my boyfriend for the first time. I can't decide if I should be ecstatic or terrified.

"Come on," Derek says gently, nudging my shoulder like the couple in line at the funnel cake stand. There's so much activity, even though it's well after sundown and most of the people have left. It almost reminds me of the hospital. I tell this to Derek and he laughs.

"Can you imagine Richard Webber running a place like this?"

"Still. It's so busy…"

He motions with his head to a couple behind the sign marked 'bathrooms'. I strain to see them, they're barely visible in the dark, but I can tell that they're groping each other.

"Would that be us?" He whispers seductively in my ear and I elbow him in the ribs, fighting a grin.

"Let's eat after the rollercoaster's," I say to Derek, ignoring his last quip, "I don't think I'll keep it down if I eat now."

He laughs again; he's always laughing lately. I chuckle too, glancing up at the rides and

wondering if they're as tall as New York skyscrapers.

I push the thought away while I unwillingly follow Derek into the crowd of people. He seems to sense my discomfort as the line of people in front of us continues to grow smaller. He places a hand on my arm to calm me down and it works.

"I didn't even know these things were open this long; that people actually come this late."

"I know! It's the only one in Seattle and it opens every February and closes in October…and it stays open until midnight every night."

He seems so excited about it, like he's reliving a particularly memorable moment of his childhood. I'm jealous for a second, before the fear begins to set in again as we're ushered forward by a crazy-looking carnie into a pin -sized car.

"This is supposed to save me from certain death?" I ask, looking in front of me skeptically while the people behind us in line stifle giggles.

"You'll be fine," Derek replies cheerfully, fastening my seat belt for me and brushing back my bangs, "I can't believe you've never been on one of these before."

"Yea, well," I shrug, taking a cautious look to my right to see the tracks. They look ominous and before I'm ready, before I can fully prepare myself for the next three minutes, we lurch forward to climb slowly and carefully up a steep incline.

"I thought this was supposed to go fast?" I yell at Derek over the screech of metal.

"It will."

"When?"

"Right about…now."

I can only think of one thing, while we're plummeting downward at speeds that humans should not be going at. One thing as I see my life flash before my eyes at an alarmingly fast rate. One thing as I feel the cart wobble dangerously.

_I'm going to kill Derek._

Seriously, how did someone come up with this for entertainment? Sure, I'll just invent something that goes really, really fast from really, really high and stick some people on it to make money.

I mean, do kids really go for this stuff? Whatever happened to stealing cars and having sex?

There's somebody screaming in my ear and it takes me a second to realize that it's me. Everyone else, including Derek has there arms raised over their heads while my hands are clinging desperately to the railing that I'm convinced is keeping me alive. My fingers are turning white and my face, I'm sure, has turned an attractive shade of green.

There's a dark tunnel in front of us and everything's moving so fast that my mind only digests two facts; that it's dark and that someone is making out with me on a rollercoaster. There's a flash of blinding light and then suddenly it's over, we slow to a stop in front of the gates and I'm only able to step shakily out of the car with Derek's arm supporting me. The world spins once my foot touches concrete; do the stars usually move like that? I screw my eyes shut, willing them to focus.

--

He leads me up to a photo booth after I've recovered and I squint up at the photos, trying to find us. We're there, nearly unrecognizable because of the angles are heads are tilted at, in the far left corner at the very top. My hair's everywhere and I giggle girlishly at the picture, drinking in the sight of my hands tangled in Derek's hair and his hand cupping my face, lips locked. This is a picture captures us perfectly, and I think briefly that if we ever get a house together then I'm displaying two pictures on the mantle; this one and the one that Izzie took of us in the snow.

"Perfect," Derek announces proudly, holding up our picture, tucked into a cheesy frame with Steel Venom imprinted just above our heads and a comic-like serpent showing it's fangs underneath us. I roll my eyes but smile, nodding appreciatively.

"Perfect," I echo.

There's a moment of silence, a moment where we share our look. Then he rubs his hands together, getting that glint in his eyes again.

"Bumper cars?"

**AN: My life is boring, so make it exciting with reviews. Terrible? So-So? Brilliant? Let me know. **

**Song is Natasha by Rufus Wainwright (the lyrics totally don't fit this chapter but I was listening to it while I wrote it so I wanted to stick it in). **


	25. Uh Oh

We come stumbling in at exactly midnight, drunk with child-like happiness. The house is dark, understandably, and we fight hard to keep quiet despite the overwhelming need to laugh. He knocks over a lamp on the way in, and I let out a snort followed by a laugh. True, we did have a few shots of tequila at Joe's, and true, Joe did have to call us a cab but really; we shouldn't be _this _drunk, right? I mean, we had like 8 shots between the two of us.

"Did you just snort?" He asks.

I snort again, closing my eyes, letting my shoulders shake with laughter. I hear soft footsteps on the stairs and a calm lecture directed towards Derek.

"You got her _drunk_? On you're first _date_?"

I'm in the principles office again, swinging my legs back and forth while I sit in the chair that's too big, eyeing the distance between my foot and the floor.

I sneak a glance at Derek and I can see that he's struggling with the laughter problem now too, which is comforting.

"Izzie," I try to say, but it comes out more like 'stizzie' because apparently when I'm happy and drunk I come up with new, creative ways to laugh; like hissing. Derek looks at me with a grin on his face.

"More importantly," Izzie says, giving me the once-over, "is she _happy_?"

She gives up on asking questions when Derek leans on the banister to support his weight, making wide, sweeping gestures with his arms for no logical reason.

"I don't think I've ever seen you drunk, McDreamy," Izzie comments lightly, leading him to the couch, "and frankly I don't trust you two in the same room with each other; judging by the way Mark was acting a few hours ago…"

"Where's steamy?" I manage, finally gaining some semblance of control.

"Oh, Mark's in you're room Meredith. We thought you guys would be staying at the trailer."

I nod absently, although I should probably be offended that they expected me to sleep with him on our first date. But hey, with our track record, I can't really blame them.

"We can move him, if you want."

"Nah," I say sweepingly, slumping against the wall. Me and the wall, Derek and the banister.

"Okay, well, Derek can sleep on the couch and then you can sleep with George or me."

"But I love Derek!"

"Yes, well, it's either George or me, because I don't really think you and Mark-"

"I'll take Mark," I say, firmly solidifying the fact that I am horribly, hopelessly drunk. The room is thrown into stunned silence as Izzie scrambles for a quick solution to the problem.

"You'll…take Mark," Izzie repeats slowly, the words sounding uncomfortable in her mouth.

"Yes," I say, beginning to trudge up the stairs. Derek's face swirls in and out of focus, his eyes half closed at the bottom of the staircase. I don't think he's paying attention to the extremely important conversation happening between me and Izzie because hell, I'm barely paying attention to the extremely important conversation between me and Izzie.

"I thought we were moving past the whole tequila-bad-choices thing," Izzie mutters, but I'm already hell-bent on crawling into my bed with Mark while Derek is sleeping on the couch.

--

Everything's completely black except for a small circle of light in front of me where I can barely make out the ceiling of my bedroom. I can't remember anything that happened last night, and I'm sort of wondering if I should crack my eyes open all the way just to make sure I'm not naked with a McDreamy in my bed. It's silent in my room but my head's pounding with a familiar dull ache that always accompanies my hangovers. I'm ready to slide my eyes back shut again when I hear a muffled groan off to my left. Shit. The circle of light gets bigger and I'm able to make out most of the ceiling but I'm still too scared to look at the picture that will inevitably greet me to my left.

When I finally turn my head, I let out a scream like the ones that women make in old horror movies. There, approximately two centimeters from my face is Mark Sloane.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," I mumble desperately, but I notice that we're both thankfully clothed.

"Was I that bad?" Mark answers teasingly, his legs tangled in the sheets.

"I-I don't know."

"You don't remember either?"

"Nope. I've been lying here staring at the ceiling for over an hour."

"Ditto."

I wring my hands awkwardly together, "You're not at all bothered by this?"

I see a shadow by the doorway but I choose to ignore it, thinking that it's got to be George or Izzie. I move into the corner by my bedside table, trying to get as far away from Mark as possible.

"Hey, the only part I'm bothered about is not remembering the sex."

The shadow moves and I yell out into the hallway, "We're trying to figure some stuff out here…do you mind?"

I'm about to turn back to Mark, fully ready to deny whatever did or did not happen last night when I stop.

I stop because the figure in the door is most definitely not Izzie or George.

"Shit," I repeat as not-so-understanding eyes meet my own, "Shit."

**AN: Sorry this is so short- it just kind of…ended. Just so you know, I had _no_ idea that the date would end up like this so don't, you know, throw stones or anything. Yes, it's still MerDer, and yes, eventually everything will be nauseatingly happy but for now? More drama I say. **

**Note: Meredith, Derek, and Mark don't remember the last part of their night because they were drinking too much. Izzie and George haven't explained yet because they were called in for an emergency surgery (which will be explained next chapter). I'm like 75 sure that Meredith and Mark didn't have sex after she got home but I have no control over the characters-they do what they want. So, maybe they actually did- they _were_ pretty drunk and all…but Mark was kind of passed out…I don't know. But review, as always!!!**


	26. Pure Morning

_A friend in needs a friend indeed,  
A friend who'll tease is better ,  
Our thoughts compressed,  
Which makes us blessed,  
And makes for stormy weather_

"I let myself in," an extremely pissed off Addison states coolly from the doorway, one hand on her waist and the other hanging limply to her side, "you want to explain why I just stumbled on a morning-after moment with you two?"

I look to Mark for help, my eyes wide and my mouth hanging open at an unattractive angle. My expression turns to a grimace as I hear her Prada heels clicking against wood to enter into my bedroom. My bedroom where the sheets are still entangled messily and where Mark and I are both looking guiltily back and forth.

"Well?"

"Addie, we don't really know what…" Mark trails off and I send him a glare and mouth 'you couldn't do better?' at him. He shrugs and I decide to try to pull us out of this.

"We were really drunk last night, Addison, and, well...we're still trying to figure out exactly what happened."

"What's even more confusing to me is why you would sleep together while Derek is downstairs," she says, brushing off my feeble explanation and staring at me with ice cold eyes, "I'm not pretending that the man's a saint but come on! This is just cruel."

"Derek's here?" I ask hopefully. Maybe we had a threesome.

"You really can't remember can you? Jesus what I wouldn't give for a night like that."

Mark's eyes light with an idea and I inwardly groan. I so don't need one of Mark's ideas right now.

"I've got it! We didn't have sex last night."

We both turn to him with identical incredulous looks, prompting him to continue.

"We're fully clothed. Seriously," he adds to Addison's eye roll, "wouldn't we be naked? At least I'd hope so-"

"Mark! Not helping!" I yell, mortified.

"Sorry. But, I have another one. The room would smell like sex, right? If we'd done the nasty?"

"He's giving me a headache," Addison complains, retracting her claws and pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose.

"Me, too. Mark, out."

"But I finally have you two in the same room together! Don't you want to get to know each other a little more?"

"Mark! Out!" We both yell in unison.

He moves to go but not in time to miss the sight of Derek in the doorway, in the same spot where Addison stood not three minutes ago, rubbing his eyes and yawning. For a second it looks like he's about to knock as he raises his hand up to the empty air. But, his eyes slowly follow his hand to the three occupants of my room; he takes a moment to focus, squinting.

"_Damn_it," I say loudly, stomping my foot. I'm met with three pairs of curious eyes locked with my own, "What? I'm not allowed to be somewhat annoyed that I can't remember what the hell happened last night? That I'm trying to figure out if I have or have not had sex with McSteamy while McDreamy was sleeping a floor away?"

"Uh, Meredith?" Mark intervenes, "Should I go, or…"

"You're not going anywhere," Derek orders, not breaking his intense staring contest with me.

"Yes, you can go," I say, nodding at him and sinking back onto my bed. Addison follows him out and I can hear them begin to argue their way down the stairs.

"Should I be worried?" He asks softly after we hear the front door close, sounding hurt and confused.

"I don't know."

"Are you seriously considering Mark?"

"No."

"Then I don't need to be worried."

"You don't need to be worried about him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks, voice rising. I move to the window, intimidated by the look in his eyes. I'm scared of the jealousy that I see, because I know how strong it can be. I know what jealousy can do to men.

"It means that you should be worried about you're girlfriend who has Cancer."

He lets out a sigh of relieve and I know that he's not relieved about the Cancer. He's relieved at having me.

"Girlfriend?" He asks.

"Girlfriend."

I can hear the floor squeak underneath his socked feet before he wraps his arms loosely around me.

"We'll be fine," he says into my hair, almost a question.

"We'll be fine," I repeat, nodding. I feel his breath on my neck, the comforting rhythm that makes me want to go back to bed, this time with dark hair instead of reddish-brown.

"Do you remember anything about last night?" Derek asks lightly, his voice the opposite of what it was minutes ago, his mood bright despite his undoubtedly excruciating hangover.

"Mhmm," I mock, pretending to think, "I seem to remember something about a rollercoaster…"

"Good," he mumbles into my neck, letting a line of feather-light kisses drop lower and lower, "I'm glad our first date wasn't drowned in tequila."

"Well, it was," I point out, twisting around so that I can face him, "But only the last few hours."

"You know, technically our first dates still happening…"

I let out a laugh as his hand travels dangerously low, "I like where you're going with this, Shepard."

**AN: I thought about making Mer and Mark have sex…but then like every review was like 'don't make them have sex or I'll hate you' so I didn't. However, we might find out later that they had sex (I'm as clueless as you-they have a mind of their own), but if it is then I'll make it all centered on MerDer so it'll be okay. **

**So now you can breathe; In, out. **

**Like? Not Like? **

**Song is Pure Morning by Placebo **


	27. Muesli and Implied Love

_A warning sign_

_I missed the good part then I realised_

_I started looking and the bubble burst_

_I started looking for excuses_

_Come on in, I've gotta tell you what a state I'm in_

_I've gotta tell you in my loudest tones_

_That I started looking for a warning sign_

My bare feet slap against cherry wood, a robe wrapped loosely around me. I can hear the soft pound of water hitting the floor in the upstairs bathroom from the kitchen where I'm moving back and forth in an almost-forgotten morning routine. I pour muesli into one of my mother's old ceramic bowls, setting it on the table across from the mug of coffee marking my place. I take the orange juice and milk out from the refrigerator, setting them in the center of the table before lazily falling into my chair, not letting the fact that it's 1 in the afternoon bother me. I take gentle sips out of my steaming mug, counting the hours before my chemo. 1, 2, 3.

I can't hear the water anymore, and I imagine Derek drying his hair with a towel; tying it around his waist so he can brush his teeth. I wait, hearing drawers open and shut, the click of a light being shut off. I hear padded footsteps on the stairs, a sound that's become familiar in the last two days.

"Morning," I say to Derek when I look over to see him leaning against the wall fifteen minutes later in his stubbornly traditional pose, a grin planted across his face.

"Afternoon," he corrects, "Is that muesli?"

"Maybe."

"You made me muesli?"

"Actually, there was an elf here a couple minutes ago, just left…"

I trail off when he steps closer, so that there's barely any room left between us.

"You're amazing," he whispers, millimeters away from my lips. I fight the blush creeping onto my cheeks, pushing him gently away.

"I have morning breath."

"I don't care," he says, dipping his head down again.

"You should," I laugh, again pressing my hands to his chest

"Fine. But just so you know, you're the first woman who's refused to kiss me in the morning."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You already ate, right?" he asks, glancing pointedly at the coffee mug wrapped securely in my left hand.

"Yes. I had coffee, and now I'm having seconds."

"Seriously? You still refuse to eat normal breakfast food?"

"Seriously."

"That's sad."

"Deal with it McDreamy," I say, laughing and taking one last gulp of coffee before moving to the sink, "I'm not going to start eating breakfast just because I'm dating a health-nut."

"Fine. But don't come crawling to me when you pass out from mal-nutrition."

"You're saying you'd just leave me, passed out in some alley?" I joke, turning the faucet and letting the water run.

"Why would you be in an alley?"

"I don't know- it just seemed to fit, me passed out in an alley somewhere."

He laughs.

"You're mind works in strange ways, Meredith Grey."

"Ah, but you love me."

"Yeah," he says, face turning serious. I freeze, one hand on the mug and the other clutching a sponge. The conversation's turned way too personal for my liking. Sex, I'm fine with. Love? Not so okay. Even when it's implied love.

Words stumble out of his mouth, mimicking some of my more embarrassing rambles.

"I mean not _love_ love, because we just started dating again but, you know, love like a sister- I mean, not like a sister because we just had sex…three times. More like…a friend. But friends don't have sex…."

"I have to go," I say, cutting his rant short. I dry my hands on the dishtowel hanging on the microwave handle, "I'm going to the hospital to meet George and you-you won't be here when I get back."

His eyebrows curve in with a kind of disappointed understanding.

"So we're back to the one-night-stand thing? After everything that's happened? Because I said 'yeah'?"

I ignore him, leaving him in the kitchen and walking calmly up the stairs. My emotions are raging, fighting their way to the surface but I push them away, the wall that I've spent my whole life building sliding easily back into place. He follows me but I reach my bedroom before he can catch up and close the door, turning the lock. I breathe heavily, my eyes fluttering shut for a moment. The scene in the kitchen was too close to one we had three and a half years ago. Way too close to what Derek and I _had_ three and a half years ago.

My eyelids snap back open once my composure returns and I pull open the bottom drawer of my dresser, picking out an outfit carefully; black yoga pants and a stretchy black t-shirt.

Comfortably emo.

I hear his fists pound on the door like they did yesterday while I was in the bathroom and I wonder fleetingly if I can escape the room without running into Derek.

"Meredith, come on. It's not like you can run every time we take a step forward."

His voice is muffled through the wood, his soft voice made even softer.

"I have to be at the hospital," I say, throwing the door open and giving him a quick look before pushing past him into the hall. He follows me to the door, watches me as I slip the strap of my purse over a shoulder. He doesn't make a move to stop me; he knows me too well. I'm always running, with him four blocks away struggling to catch up.

"So that's it? We're not going to talk about this?"

"Later," I mumble, avoiding his eyes and traveling through the front door, leaving a confused and frustrated- looking Derek standing next to the banister.

"_I love you," he says, pushing me up against the refrigerator._

"_Really?" I say back hopefully, not bothering to respond._

_I can't afford to say it back. _

"_Really." _

_His lips attack my neck in that comforting, dangerous way while my hands travel up his arms and around his neck. For a moment it doesn't matter that the guilt will inevitably follow me around work tomorrow. It doesn't matter that every time I see red hair I'll want to run to the nearest bathroom. _

_It doesn't matter because no matter how much I try to deny it, I love him too. _

_I slide his shirt over his head, kissing him hungrily because I know that this could be the last time. _

"_Stop," I whisper, and he knows what I mean. He knows that I want him to stop loving me, and for me to stop loving him. _

"_I can't." _

**AN: I don't like this chapter. It took me forever, and I don't like it. Probably because it took me forever. Let me know what you think…should I start with the drama again? Because I have some ideas but they might be too mean… **

**Song is Warning Sign by Coldplay**


	28. Edge of the Ocean

**For those concerned- I won't make Derek and Addison get back together, and I won't make Meredith and Mark get together either. The drama I have planned is normal, safe MerDer stuff that won't cause readers to burst into tears. **

_There's a place I dream about_

_Where the sun never goes out_

_And the sky is deep and blue._

_Won't you take me there with you._

_Oh, we can begin again._

_Shed our skin, let the sun shine in._

_By the edge of the ocean_

_We can start over again._

George goes in with me to chemo, as he does every week although I've told him countless times that I don't need him to. He says that I need his moral support; whatever that means. He has a book in his left hand- an Agatha Christie mystery that he'll read to me during the hours we have to wait.

We fidget uncomfortably in the lobby, avoiding each other's eyes.

Neither of us wants to be here again.

"So we should probably go in."

"Probably."

"This is for a good cause."

"Yep."

"So you won't die in the next year."

My eyebrows knit together in amused confusion. I let a smile creep onto my face.

"Yep."

"Not that you would necessarily _die_ in the next year-"

"I get it George."

"Good," he says, letting out a breath. We both turn to stare at the counter ahead of us.

"Why are we so nervous?" I ask, "It's not like this hasn't happened before or anything. You've seen me throw up, I've seen you with syphilis. No big deal, right?"

"Can't we get past the syphilis? That was like, four years ago."

"Sorry, couldn't think of anything else."

"I get it. It's just, you know, a little embarrassing."

We both take a big breath of air and simultaneously step forward to greet the nurse.

When I'm gulping down water a few hours later, leaning against the hospital wall in the rain, dark hair comes into focus from a few feet away.

"What's wrong with her?"

Derek looks concerned while George stares blankly.

"She's just had chemo," George says, as if talking to a child.

Wet drops slide down their faces.

"I thought it hadn't started yet."

I duck my head down, trying to hide my face. There's no way I want him to see me like this.

"Listen," he orders, bending to my level, "I'm sorry about this morning. I wasn't thinking and I let slip something that you're obviously not ready for."

I groan, turning to dry heave over the grass. George bends down, used to this. Derek looks more worried then he should as he dips his head to kiss my neck, wet on wet. He shares a look with George that I barely catch.

"I'm fine."

"She's fine."

"You're fine?"

"Yes," I repeat, my voice scratching uncomfortably against my throat.

"Sure?"

"Yes."

"Completely?"

Now he's just teasing and I'm disappointed that I don't have enough energy to tease back.

"Home," I croak, pleading to George.

"Home."

Derek and George each thread an arm around my waist and we painstakingly begin to stumble towards the parking lot.

"Only one more of these," George reassures.

I nod, letting my head fall onto Derek's shoulder.

"So have you forgiven me?" Derek asks tentatively from the backseat once the doors are safely shut.

He's left his car in the parking lot so that he can ride with me.

"Yes," I say, because I know he won't take no for an answer.

"Good."

Silence fills the car and my eyelids start to slump. When I wake up in my bed the next morning having no idea how I got there, I realize that it was only when I was sure that McDreamy and I were okay that I let myself drift towards sleep.

**AN: So this fic might end in the next few chapters…or it might not. I don't want to stop writing it!! But I may just start a new story and give up on this one. I don't know. Let me know what you think! Review!!**

**Song is Edge of the Ocean by Ivy**


	29. Moving Forward

_  
I could possibly be fading  
Or have something more to gain  
I could feel myself growing colder  
I could feel myself under your fate  
Under your fate_

I sometimes wonder what it'd be like to live somewhere warm. Somewhere like Hawaii or Mexico where I could eat quesadillas with my hands and lie on the beach, tanning.

Somewhere that didn't rain constantly; day after day after day.

Lately I've been wondering what it would be like to live in a place like that with Derek, having him next to me on the beach, licking my fingers clean of quesadilla. Somehow I can't picture us there. Something about us is linked to the cold, I think, some tie that we've made over the years. Something about everything we've been through.

It's probably because of that picture.

"Coffee?" he asks, his head above mine. I shake my head.

"How long have you been up?"

"Only about an hour. I've been watching you sleep."

"Should I take that as romantic or disturbing?"

He cocks his head, pondering.

"Romantic. Definitely romantic."

I shake my head, rolling onto my side and watching him.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Seriously, what?"

"Nothing!"

He gives me a strange look, before moving closer to brush my shoulder with his fingertips. I know that he's just stopped himself from running a hand through my non-existent hair.

"I have to be at the hospital…do you need anything before I go?"

"Nope," I say, closing my eyes, "My shift starts in two hours."

"You're sure you're okay?"

"Positive."

He smiles briefly before kissing me chastely on the lips and picking up his briefcase.

When he's gone, my eyes snap open, suddenly wondering exactly what just happened. Why was Derek here in the morning? And more importantly, why wasn't I yelling at him? I can vaguely remember chemo, but the car ride home is hazy…maybe I forgave him. Without remembering that I forgave him. I burrow deeper into the bed, pulling my pillow tighter.

It was nice, waking up to Derek.

It always is.

--

Red. That's the first color to come into focus at the end of my bed. Next is crystal clear blue eyes and salmon scrubs; manicured hands resting lightly on the edge of my bed.

"I'm here to give you a ride," she says.

"W-what?" I stutter, my eyes opening and shutting blearily.

"You're shift. Derek sent me."

"What?" I say again, this time more clear, "Why would he send you?"

"He didn't think you'd wake up. Mark didn't think so either."

My thoughts entangle.

"Are you and Mark…"

"Back together, giving it another shot."

"That's great!" I croak with as much energy as I can summon. Her face lights briefly.

"We're happy."

"That's great," I repeat firmly.

She reaches up to pat my leg.

"Work. Now," she orders, holding out her hand to help me up. I'm acutely aware of the absence of the bandana, and I run a hand nervously over the smooth surface of my head. She either doesn't notice or chooses not to say anything.

"Most important," she says, rubbing her hands together and eying my closet, "what are you going to wear?"

**AN: I'm kind of not satisfied with this because it doesn't really delve into Meredith actually forgiving Derek while she's coherent…but whatever. And the next chapter will kind of imply that they made up…I hope…. Next chapter is the end. I've decided. And already written it.**

**Song is Into Dust by Mazzy Star**

**Review!!!!!!**


	30. Happily Ever After

"Derek?" I say into his neck, "We have a problem."

Its been three months since my last treatment of chemo and we're living together, Derek and I, in his trailer in the woods that he never sold. He even tried to teach me to fish, both hands wrapped loosely around me, guiding my arm.

We ended up doing other things.

"Mhmm."

"Derek! We. Have. A problem."

"Mhmm?"

"Derek," I hiss, "you're crushing me."

"Mhmm," he mumbles, motionless.

"Now you're just faking it."

"Mhmm," he says, a grin plastered lazily across his face.

"Move!"

"No. I like crushing you."

"I don't."

"Obviously. Did you know it was four in the afternoon?"

I push him frantically off me, "Damnit, I'm late for my meeting with Mark!"

"Nah, you aren't. I was just kidding."

"Damnit, Derek!"

"Just last week you seduced me, which caused me to be three hours late for work. I think I earned the right to tease you."

"I did _not_ seduce you."

"You're always seducing me, Grey," he says, flipping me over onto my back. I giggle, letting it be swallowed by his mouth while I run my fingers through his hair.

"What can I say?" I whisper as we pull apart, "Your seduceable."

"Seduceable?"

"That's you."

"You couldn't come up with something better?"

I give him a pout.

"I'm just saying, there are millions of words out there, actual un-made-up words that you could have used."

"Un-made-up? Um, Webster? I don't think _that's _a word."

"Shut up."

We both laugh, pushing off each other to get up.

"Ugh," I mutter, pressing the back of my hand to my forehead.

"Are you okay?" he asks, concerned.

"Yeah, yeah…I'm fine, just…tired."

"You don't sound fine…"

"It's fine Derek!" I snap unintentionally.

"Oh no," Derek says, throwing up his hands.

He knows not to take it personally.

"What?"

"You said _fine_. We both know that when you say fine, things are really bad."

"That's not true," I protest, falling back onto the bed.

"Let me give you a history lesson. Marriage, affair, cancer, do you _want_ me to go on?"

"Fine. So I'm not fine, what's the big deal, I can't be 'not fine'?"

"Considering the fact that we're living in a shoebox and whatever you're feeling I'm feeling…"

"It's nothing. Can I make you some coffee?"

"No, because you'll steal some."

"So?"

"You're a doctor."

"So?"

"So, you're pregnant and you can't have coffee."

"I hate you Derek," I mumble, stomping to the airplane-sized bathroom.

"That's just the hormones," Derek calls after me lightly, "Now tell me what's wrong."

"It's morning sickness, okay? Nothing bad, nothing scary, nothing dark and twisty, it's just morning sickness."

"So why didn't you tell me right away?"

"Because it's early and you were being an ass."

"Fair enough."

I give myself a small smile in the mirror as Derek falls silent, watching the woman in front of me. I hear him opening drawers and pulling out clothes, hear the quiet sounds of him pulling a wife-beater over his head, of him zipping his jeans.

Everything's changed so much, it's strange to think that in this trailer with Derek, I feel most like Meredith Grey. With him I feel like I can do whatever; be as sarcastic and bitter as I want and he'll still love me. Here, I feel like me.

Not in New York City, not at the hospital, not with my friends, not even alone.

Here, with Derek, is home.

**AN: The end!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**I'm thinking about a sequel, called, surprise surprise- From Seattle to New York. I don't know if I'll have enough material though so it's still kind of up in the air…watch for it, though!!!**


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